Principles and Honor
by NewMewn
Summary: At the start of Potter's second Hogwarts year, additional duties and complications fall to Severus Snape with the arrival of an unexpected and unwanted guest. Covers CoS to post-DH; AU, EWE.  First 3 chapters reposted 10/2010 due to posting difficulties.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: At the start of Potter's second year at Hogwarts, additional duties fall on Severus Snape's shoulders with the arrival of an unexpected—and unwanted—guest. Overall story occurs from CoS to post-DH, disregarding the Epilogue.

Warnings: AU, EWE. Rating may increase in later chapters.

Disclaimer:This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made by the humble (and quite poor) fanfic author, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/Ns:Non-canon Latin words/translations are from .edu. References include The Harry Potter Lexicon and Potterwords. Although potions ingredients in this fiction story are sometimes listed as possible treatments, none of them should be used for such purposes unless in consultation with a qualified medical doctor.

oOo

Principles and Honor

By NewMewn

_Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. _

_Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. _

_Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. _

_When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. _

_And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity. _

-I Corinthians 13 (KJV)

Part I

**Faith**

**NOTES:** Occurring during _Chamber of Secrets_ and _Prisoner of Azkaban_.

Chapter 1

The combined scent of leather and polished wood filled her lungs, a soothing welcome after hours of recycled stale jetliner air and the overwhelming ashtray smell in the cramped cab to King's Cross Station. Hitching the backpack off her shoulders and dumping it onto one of the two comfortable old bench seats, the short-haired brunette sat down just as the train jerked forward.

_So tired._ The flight had been unrestful. When she'd reclined her seat, the passenger behind her had rapped sharply, saying he was using his laptop and needed her seat back upright. Every time she'd dozed a while, neck pain had awakened her.

A gentle smile came to her lips at the thought of the nostalgic train steaming to Scotland. Her travel agent had mentioned it would be old and slow, but she'd hadn't expected an actual steam train that could be straight from a black-and-white movie. She'd found an unclaimed compartment in the last car, which afforded some quiet from the horde of excited and noisy children.

Lying down, she rested her head on the pack and closed her eyes, the train's gentle motion and the rhythmic _click-clack, click-clack _lulling her to sleep. Images of city buildings, countryside and villages flashed by, the hours marked by the shifting sunlight on farmland and moors, and moonlight shimmering on rivers and waterways.

When the so-called express finally reached its destination, the jolting stop didn't wake her, nor did the excited children disembarking, dragging their luggage. Raincoat-draped and curled on the padded bench, she drowsily awoke only when shaken by the shoulder.

"Oi, miss! We're 'bout to close down for the night, and I only just spotted ya," the conductor said, peering at her with a mixture of amusement and urgency. "Ya won't need any sleep for a week after that nap!"

Shaking her head to enforce full consciousness, she arose, grabbing her coat and what appeared to the man to be a rather small-sized backpack.

"Ya've not got any other baggage?" the conductor asked curiously.

"It'll be delivered in a day or two," the casually-dressed woman replied, disclosing an American accent. "I've got in the pack what I need to tide me over." Meanwhile, she shrugged one of the bag's wide straps over her right shoulder with one hand, the other zipping up the waterproof jacket.

"This way." The elderly man held forward a lantern as he guided her down the steps and onto the platform.

"Thank you," she said automatically, looking around. The platform was clear except for two train personnel near the engine, the conductor and herself. Lights twinkled from houses a distance beyond the station, and the soft streetlights along the platform revealed an attractive reddish tinge to her short, wavy hair, a ringlet teasing her left ear.

"I'm afraid ya've missed both the carriages and the boats," the conductor apologized. He glanced up the mountain, his forehead crinkling in concern. "It's a bit of a hike to the castle…"

His sized her up while she looked uncertainly up the hill. With the dancing lantern light fading quickly, the mountain was nearly black against the night sky.

"Have ya actually been here before?" he asked.

"Uh, no," she admitted, hitching her pack to hang more comfortably.

"Ah, then, you'll need to take a boat," the conductor nodded sagely. "I'm sure one'll be available by the time ya get to the dock yonder." He pointed to a walkway extending from the railway station toward the trees, the groomed trail clearly lit by old-fashioned lamp posts.

Her gaze followed the direction he indicated, taking in the dirt path with fresh shoe prints that disappeared among the trees toward a faint light. The river—or lake, as the case may be—obviously lay beyond.

"But I expect ya may be a bit late for the supper," he added.

"I suppose if I missed it and they're quite strict, I'll just snack on what I brought," she answered, bending over to tighten a shoe lace.

"Oh, they won't let ya go hungry," the man promised, then jerked his head toward the path. "Once ya get to the other side, just take the stairway. It'll take ya straight to the castle."

"Thanks." She smiled into his kindly, lined face. "And thanks for keeping me from missing the stop!" She gave the conductor a firm handshake and, obeying her growling stomach, started along the path at a brisk pace.

"I'm sure Dumbledore and the staff will give ya a warm welcome!" the conductor called after her. She twisted slightly without breaking pace to wave acknowledgement. Turning away, he removed his blue cap and swung the lantern in the all-clear signal to his colleagues.

oOo

Two lanterns hanging at the end of the dock cast a yellow glow on a single wooden boat that bobbed gently in the dark lake water. After a moment's hesitation—this, after all, was a rather unexpected means to reach her destination—she dropped the backpack into the boat, then carefully stepped down. Holding the worn sides for balance, she sat down and was bending forward in search or oars when the boat began moving forward of its own volition.

"Whoa!" Eyes wide, she grabbed the sides more firmly and watched incredulously as the motorless boat steadily floated toward what apparently was a steeply peaked island. "It must be done with underwater rails," she murmured.

It took a couple of minutes for her to accept that, somehow, the boat "knew" where it was going and she relaxed into the ride. An invigorating pine scent wafted across the lake, whose water reflected a stream of moonlight surrounded by ever-shifted starpoints.

The boat bumped into a stone pier less than fifteen minutes later and stilled itself next to a lit, narrow stairway. Holding her pack firmly in one hand, she gingerly stepped out, glad to find firm footing. As she climbed the steep flight, the boat silently slipped away.

From the top of the stairs she could finally see the gray castle looming about two football fields away. Welcoming lights sparkled from the windows, and a banner whose design could not be clearly seen nonetheless flew proudly from the highest turret. She paused to gawk at the magnificent sight, and her thoughts turned to dinner—"at the high table," the provided literature had said—and sleeping in a curtained, four-poster bed in an honest-to-God real castle. She sighed in expectation.

Hurrying across the grass, she turned up the stone sidewalk, and pushed open one of the enormously tall, thick double doors.

The Entrance Hall was empty, save for banners and glorious, sweeping staircases reaching several floors. She looked fruitlessly about for someone or for something—a desk bell, perhaps?—to summons staff. As she waited several minutes, she looked toward another set of tall wooden doors from which emanated sounds of festivity and the aroma of a fine meal. Giving up on meeting anyone in the entry, she quietly crossed the room to stand against the far wall that provided a clear view into the Great Hall.

Students wearing robes in traditional British public school robes sat eating, talking exuberantly and squirming along four long tables stretching toward the front of the room, where adults in similar academic gowns more sedately demonstrated good table manners and polite conversation while keeping an eye on the rollicking mass before them. All of the tables were piled high with huge platters and bowls of food, ranging from meats to desserts. Many of the staff and students wore unusual hats, some pointed. Most amazing of all were the hundreds of candles suspended in mid-air and the night-sky tableau on the ceiling.

_What a truly wondrous place!_ she thought, so enrapt with the scene that her hunger was forgotten.

"Pardon me." She started at the unexpected voice beside her.

Looking up at her was a balding, round-shouldered and supremely sour-looking man holding up a lantern to see her better. Apparently trying to smile, his lips could only form a twisted grimace. His thread-bare brown coat looked as if it had been rescued from a seedy thrift store, and what teeth he still possessed were crooked and yellow. Circling his ankles was a scrawny cat whose narrowed eyes glared suspiciously.

"H-hello," the woman squeaked loudly. Suppressing a shudder and slightly ashamed, she pasted on an engaging smile. "Is there anyone available to help me get my room and maybe something to eat?" she asked in a more modulated tone. "Sorry I'm late. Last off the train."

Lips pursed, he eyed her carefully, considering the situation. "Wait here," he muttered.

With a backward glance to see that she obeyed, he entered the Great Hall, creeping along the right wall before stepping quickly across to an old man who had taken his place at an eagle podium. Bending to hear the shabby little man's whisper, the senior with an enormously long beard leveled shrewd blue eyes past the open double doors, then whispered back to the caretaker.

Returning to the wall, her greeter stepped onto the platform and shuffled behind the seated adults to a thin, dark-haired man sitting ramrod straight. Expressionless, he listened to the stooped messenger's whisper, then rose and walked off the platform, the caretaker trotting to keep up with the younger man's long-legged stride. Some students' heads swiveled to see where the pair was going, but one elegantly sharp motion from the black-draped man's hand was enough to make most—particularly those at the table below green banners, the woman noticed—hastily return their curious stares to the front.

Filch trailing behind him, Severus Snape swept silently through the doors, his black robe swirling around his legs as he came to a sudden stop before the unknown woman. His piercing black eyes surveyed her from head to toe. _Late 20s, early 30s,_ he calculated. She plainly had decided there was no need for formality tonight. His lips briefly curled into a sneer as he noted no makeup enhanced her relatively attractive face and her hair needed brushing. She wore a white T-shirt, open waterproof jacket, wrinkled khaki pants, and a suede-like backpack—backpack!—resting rested next to her white trainers. _How distinctly Ame__rican,_ he thought.

Simultaneously, she appraised the tall man before her. He appeared all black, save for pale skin and touches of while at his neck and wrists. The academic robe, boots, trousers and multi-buttoned coat were black, as was his lank, chin-length hair. A crease between his dark brows underscored an evident sternness. His nose was large and hooked, apparently broken in the past, and there were a couple of clear scares on his otherwise smooth skin. Though he frowned, she noted that his lips were thin yet attractively well-shaped. His eyes were the darkest she'd ever seen, and long-lashed. He exuded a heady combination of self-confidence and mystery.

"And who, pray tell, are you?" he demanded, looking down the hooked nose and folding his arms across his chest. Two long fingers drummed against a black-clad arm.

Although taken aback by the cool acknowledgment, she smiled, displaying even white teeth, and extended her hand, failing to be intimidated by his no-nonsense attitude. Snape didn't move. She dropped her hand and continued pleasantly.

"Nadia Beasley," she replied. "I don't mean to be disruptive. I slept on the train, and would have missed the stop if the conductor hadn't wakened me."

Snape stared into her eyes. The look slightly chilled her, and the corner of his mouth twitched as he sensed her unease.

"I'm sorry to interrupt. I hadn't been informed about a special event," Nadia looked back into the hall, the warmth returning to her as she enjoyed the sight. "Just a little something to eat and a bed would be great. Feels like I've been traveling for days." She turned back to him imploringly.

Severus stood very still, again locking eyes with the woman for longer than she thought necessary. Nadia held his gaze with guileless confidence. Despite his rudeness, he was strangely fascinating.

He turned his gaze to the Great Hall's doorway, where Filch waited. Jerking his head to the side, Snape led both away from the speechmaking within, back to the Entry Hall and to the main stairs. "Wait here until the ceremonies are ended," he instructed, a glance at Filch making it clear that his duty was to keep an eye on the woman. Abruptly, he turned on his heels, his robe swinging to one side, and strode out the main doors, a blast of cold air escaping inside before the heavy doors banged shut.

Beasley and Filch stood uncomfortably in the faint torch light, shifting uncomfortably without speaking. Unintelligible voices occasionally punctuated by applause drifted from the assembly room. After several minutes' standing, Nadia finally sank onto a smooth stone step, resting her elbows on her thighs. Filch pursed his lips again but said nothing, and his cat began winding itself around his ankles, occasionally giving an accusatory stare at the stranger.

A squirming troop of youngsters suddenly emerged from a side room, led by a tall tartan-draped woman in a pointed hat. After being shushed, they filtered through the Great Hall doorway, beyond sight.

Hunger was making her somewhat lightheaded, but Nadia deemed it impolite to break out the sunflower was slowly building in her forehead._ Must have a headache coming on from the long trip, _she thought, rubbing her temple lightly. She closed her eyes, willing the pain to go away.

Some time later, students rushed through the double doors, parting around Snape, who walked through throng's midst. Nadia stepped hastily aside, kicking the backpack to safety behind her to avoid the crush and possible damage. All of the adults present followed except Severus, who paused to order a prefect to conduct the Slytherins to their dungeon common room; Filch, who had posted himself by the Great Hall's doors to detect any misconduct among the heathens; and Dumbledore, who remained before the head table, enjoying the sight of his students eagerly beginning another school year.

Snape approached Dumbledore.

"Headmaster." Folding his hands inside his robes and across his chest, Snape leaned forward. "She's a Muggle."

oOo

A/N: For purposes of this story, Snape agreed to duck outside to catch the errant Potter and Weasley, hauled them into his office and gave them a thorough tongue-lashing before returning upstairs to inform the Headmaster about Beasley and the Terrible Twos' arrivals. I owe him a huge firewhisky.

Canon and other errors are entirely my own. My apologies for any pain this may cause. "grin"

Thank you for joining me. I hope you'll R&R!


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: At the start of Potter's second year at Hogwarts, additional duties fall on Severus Snape's shoulders with the arrival of an unexpected—and unwanted—guest. Overall story occurs from CoS to post-DH. AU, EWE.

Warnings: AU, EWE.

Disclaimer:This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made by the humble (and quite poor) fanfic author, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/Ns:Non-canon Latin words/translations are from .edu. References include The Harry Potter Lexicon and Potterwords.

Although potions ingredients in this fiction story are sometimes listed as possible treatments, none of them should be used for such purposes unless in consultation with a qualified medical doctor.

oOo

**Principles and Honor**

By NewMewn

Chapter 2

"The name is Beasley, and she believes," Snape reported sardonically, "that this is some type of upper-class Muggle establishment catering to those on holiday."

Dumbledore stood silently, turning over that fact in his mind. "If she is a Muggle," he said, more to himself than the younger, darker man, "how could she have boarded the Hogwarts Express, seen the castle, _and_ gotten through the Muggle-repelling charms?"

"Perhaps there is more to this," Severus suggested. "I could not see any thoughts indicating she is anything but Muggle. There was no evidence of blocking, but if she's a skillful Occlumens …"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Well," he decided, "if she believes this is a hotel, it shall be for the night. And tomorrow morning, you shall see her aboard the Hogwarts Express and Obliviate her. She shall be taken to the Muggle station nearest her true destination, with nary a memory of Hogwarts and what she sees here."

"Headmaster." Only Snape's eyes and mouth moved as he stood exceptionally still. "The Dark Arts could be involved. The ability to breach powerful and ancient magic should not be discounted."

Tugging at his beard, the elder wizard sighed. "No, it should not," he agreed. "The sooner she is removed, the sooner we can reexamine the school's security to ensure this cannot happen again."

Dumbledore curled a finger toward Filch, who had returned to the room and stood at a respectful distance. "Mr. Filch, please call for a fine dinner for one to the high table while I remain out here with our visitor. I know this should be a house elf responsibility," he said apologetically, "but I would prefer the elves remain out of sight."

Filch nodded.

"After that, please take Miss, Missus—" he looked for clarification from Snape, who merely shrugged—"well, Miss for now, Beasley's cloak and bag to the Southeast Tower. Be sure to first remove any magical portraits and other objects, and leave some matches in each room."

Filch bowed, then hurried off. As he passed, he cast a resentful glance at the woman who was causing so much trouble on an already busy night.

Dumbledore turned. "Severus, I will greet her, and leave you to do what's necessary."

Together, the two walked together through the Great Hall, the elder in white raiment flashing the occasional jewel, the younger swathed in a fabric so dark he could easily blend into a cave, she thought as the men approached. Upon reaching her, Snape merely swept past her, leaving a chilly wake. In contrast, Dumbledore opened his arms wide in greeting, his eyes twinkling with warmth.

"Nadia Beasley!" he exclaimed with pleasure. "Albus Dumbledore. It is so good to have you here! Welcome!"

His thin, gnarled hands grasped hers with surprising strength. "I hope Professor Snape didn't give you a poor impression. He can be rather dour."

She chuckled. "It's understandable. I, uh, seem to have interrupted a special event."

"Not at all. Not at all." Dumbledore waved away her concern. "Why don't you leave your coat here, and Mr. Filch will take it and your bag to your room."

She did as asked with Dumbledore's gentlemanly assistance, revealing a small purse strapped across her shoulder.

"I am sorry that we finished dinner so quickly," Dumbledore said meanwhile. "There still is plenty of food, and I would be most honored if you would join me at the high table."

Chatting amiably, the Headmaster guided her through the Great Hall and graciously helped her onto the platform. Flushed with pleasure and the anticipation of sating her appetite, Nadia took her place in the high-backed seat next to Dumbledore's throne-like post. As she gazed up at the enchanted ceiling, Dumbledore silently summoned two clean goblets and a decanter of elf wine.

"Do you imbibe, my dear?" he inquired, offering her a glass.

"Yes, please," she said appreciatively as he handed her the goblet, then poured another for himself.

"Tell me about yourself," Dumbledore invited, beaming at her with interest.

"I live near Portland, Oregon," she began. "It's not far from Seattle, which you've probably heard of." Dumbledore smiled noncommittally. "I'm an office manager."

"And how did you decide to come to Scotland?"

"I haven't had a real vacation in years," she said. Her eyebrows lifted in appreciative surprise from the elf wine's almost bittersweet but appealing taste. "I've been to England, but never up north." She cocked her head with a smile. "Everyone I know who's been to Scotland says it's wonderful."

Filch approached the table, carrying a silver tray with a plate piled with meats, vegetables and fruits, a crystal serving dish with assorted sweetmeats and desserts, and two empty dessert plates. After placing the dishes on the table, he bowed to Dumbledore and exited. Nadia tucked into her meal, which Dumbledore picked a candied orange slice from the desserts tray. "I simply can't resist these," he admitted.

"When I made reservations, there was no indication of anything special going on at this time," Nadia said between bites. "I hope I'm not going to be in the way."

"To the contrary, dear lady," Dumbledore waved way her concern. "By the way, is it Miss or Missus?"

"Ms. or Miss," she responded.

"Miss Beasley it is, then," Dumbledore lifted his glass in toast-like fashion. "Actually, I'm afraid this is not quite the castle you were expecting." Nadia looked up in surprise. "This is a school, and First Term has just begun."

Dismayed, she put down the cutlery. "You mean I got off on the wrong stop?" Her voice rose half an octave.

"Apparently so, but please do not be concerned," Dumbledore said reassuringly. "The train schedules can be so confusing. You are more than welcome to stay the night here—even now, Mr. Filch is making sure a room is ready—and we'll see you off to the correct castle after breakfast tomorrow."

She sighed. "King's Cross was overwhelmingly busy. I really did think, though, that I'd gotten the right platform, and the time was right." She turned gratefully to the Headmaster. "I'm so sorry to impose."

"Not to worry, my dear Miss Beasley," he glowed. "It can be pleasant to have a slight deviation in what has become most routine."

"You really are too kind. Thank you," she replied. "Are you the … headmaster, then?"

"Yes, and what a pleasure it is to work with enthusiastic children. They make one feel younger," he smiled, then deftly changed the subject. "What are your plans for your visit?"

"Well, once I do get to Inverlochy Castle," she smiled sheepishly, "I just want to enjoy the scenery for a few of days—hiking, sitting by the lake, that sort of thing. I'll move on to something more reasonably priced, but, well, I really wanted to stay in a real castle, four-poster bed and all." Dumbledore nodded as he bit into a chocolate-covered strawberry. "Then to Glasgow. I studied music in college and have been in various ensembles ever since. One of the groups I'm in now focuses primarily on Renaissance and Baroque music, and I finally splurged on buying a lute. I'm to pick it up there. After seeing Glasgow, I'll finish with a few days in Edinburgh."

"It's a lovely time of year in both Scotland. The heather still is in bloom."

As she wrapped up a small sample of the desserts, Filch returned, carrying a lantern.

"We have a lovely tower suite that hasn't been needed for quite some time," Dumbledore announced. "It has its own bath, a sitting room—and a four-poster."

Nadia grinned. "Maybe this wasn't such a wrong turn after all."

"Mr. Filch will take you up and ensure that you're settled comfortably," Dumbledore said. "I apologize—we don't have any electric lights, but there are plenty of candles and lamps, so you won't be wanting." She nodded understanding. "Mr. Filch will bring you breakfast at seven, and Professor Snape will arrive at seven forty-five to take you to the train." He winked. "Don't worry—his bark is worse than his bite, as the saying goes."

Nadia took Dumbledore's extended hands. "Thank you. You've certainly gone over and beyond for a wayward stranger."

"Our pleasure," Dumbledore bowed. "Sleep well."

He watched as Filch walked her to the hallway and they disappeared around the corner. Reseating himself, Dumbledore drank thoughtfully from his goblet and absently picked up another sweet.

oOo

Followed by Mrs. Norris, who had arched her back and unblinkingly eyed the visitor with suspicion, Filch trudged through the Entry Hall and toward the castle's back, warning the moving paintings along the way to stay still as he passed through again later with a guest. Snape reinforced Filch's instruction with his own narrow-eyed warnings.

Carrying Beasley's backpack and coat, Filch climbed the spiral staircase in the Southeast Tower to the fifth-floor guest suite. Muttering most of the way about the disruption in his routine, Filch had reached the landing and began sorting through his jingling keys to find the correct one when Snape unlocked the door with a silent _Alohomora. _The door swung open and Filch deferentially stepped aside to allow the Potions master first entrance. Placing the pack and coat upon the bed, Filch scurried off to get the dinner, glad to leave Snape to his own devices.

Snape quickly searched the American's backpack. The inevitable jeans, trousers in a more professional cut, and material, assorted black and white knits tops, two bras (C cups, he couldn't help but notice), panties, a lacey camisole, and a mauve dressing gown in a silky, lightweight fabric that was wrapped protectively around a pair of black pump shoes. On the bottom, atop hiking boots, were three small volumes—_Endurance_ by Alfred Lansing, a tour book of England and Scotland marked with paper flags, and a vellum-paged, leather-bound prayer book.

Snape thumbed through a small notebook, finding a business card from _Anthony Carney, Lute Maker,_ and two receipts: One from a London travel service, hand-marked "Beasley, brown case, forward to Torlundy, Sct.," the second from Inverlochy Castle, Torlundy—_"The Highlands' finest scenery, accommodations and service"_ the slogan promised. Snape returned the papers, then finished the interior search with a whispered incantation and whisk of the slender ebony wand over each item and the pack's lining.

Various-sized zippered exterior pockets contained small bottles and packets of makeup, cleaners and a sample-sized vial of cologne; a gold bracelet and matching simple hoop earrings; tissues; a large packet of sunflower seeds; street maps of Glasgow, Edinburgh and York; a British Tourism Authority brochure about Scottish hiking trails; and a bottle of pills dispensed by a pharmacy in Forest Grove, Oregon. The coat contained only a pair of lined beige gloves, size medium, and a pack of peppermint gum.

A passport, credit cards, cash, keys, travel itinerary and tickets all were missing—inside the woman's purse, which she surely had on her, Snape surmised as he wand-tested the last of her belongings. No signs of spells or magical items were found.

Snape was long gone by the time Filch returned with the woman and extra candles.

oOo

The American was impressed as Filch guided her through ground floor halls, past banners, paintings, armor and other curiosities. On the first floor, she followed him up a foot-worn circular stone staircase, passing leaded glass windows revealing glimpses of the grounds, and a couple of closed doors. The stairs ended at a small landing. The bent man opened the door with a huge key, and she stepped into a sitting room that, far from being in disuse, appeared to have been only temporarily left by its regular occupant.

A brisk fire crackled inside the fireplace, and an elaborate filigreed clock ticked on the mantle. Two claw-foot chairs in a floral print faced each other in front of the fire, a low table between them, while a chaise lounge covered in sky-blue velvet sat along the opposite wall. Along the wall nearest the bedroom door was a bookcase, mostly empty except for a few volumes and knickknacks, and a library table. Just opposite the entry door, a tall, highly polished Queen Anne secretary desk sat ready for correspondence, and leather-bound books showed through the glassed doors. The stone floor was mostly covered with three large Abusson rugs, two in a matching blue/pink/gold floral pattern, the third under the desk in a muted beige, rust and blue design. Lit candles lined the room, sitting on the mantle, tables and desk.

Leaving a box of matches behind, Filch sourly bowed her into the bedroom. As promised, there was the four-poster bed—a huge one, draped with lace curtains and canopy, and a beautiful Jacobean-embroidered spread. An elaborately carved wardrobe standing dominated one wall. Curtains matching the spread graced a wide, high trio of leaded glass windows. The stone window seat was softened with a thick cushion, and a comfortable high-backed chair was placed next to a tea table.

Delighted, Nadia peeked into the bathroom. The floor and walls were from the same light stonework as in the sitting and bedrooms, but softened by a deep claw-footed tub and matching cream sink set into a stone surround. Open shelving was piled with thick towels. A crystal glass and matching bottles stood at the sink's edge, below a filigreed mirror. Filtered moonlight shined through a lacey curtain before the single long window.

"This is wonderful, Mr. Filch," Nadia exclaimed. "Thank you so much!" She bent to hold her spread fingers toward Mrs. Norris who, after initial scorn, left her caretaker's side to sniff, then lick, her hand.

"Hmmph," Filch muttered, a little less disagreeably. "Mrs. Norris don't normally take to strangers."

"Well, then I'm honored."

"You be needin' anything else?" he asked with grudging deferentially.

"No. This is the best." She beamed.

"If you do, just tug at that by the bed." Filch indicated a tapestry bell pull.

"I'm sure I'll be just fine," Nadia replied. "What I need most is to get on schedule with this time zone, and sleep will do it."

With a little bow, Filch left, Mrs. Norris padding behind him, tail up. The door closed with a soft snick.

Nadia sat staring into fire for some time, thinking about the turn of events. She was deeply embarrassed to have apparently taken the wrong train—or at least missing the correct stop—and inconveniencing people who were obviously busy starting a new school year. The headmaster was exceptionally kind about it, down to providing a positively magnificent room. _They might have put me in a dungeon_, she thought with a chuckle. Mr. Filch appeared creepy but actually was hospitable and harmless. The only thing she felt hesitant about was returning to the train station with that dark, unpleasant man. _Snape, wasn't it? What an odd name, and what an odd m__an—not someone I'd want to run into in a dark alley, that's for sure._

Eventually, she pulled herself from the club chair to draw a bath, stopping to blow out the sitting room's candles and to remove a few things from the backpack. Opening and sniffing the countertop bottles, she determined one was bath soap, and watched it foam luxuriously under the flowing water. She slipped into the warm water and enjoyed being able to stretch her entire frame, something impossible in her apartment's little fiberglass tub.

Having scrubbed, dried and brushed her teeth, Nadia pulled on the camisole—her trip's space-saving "night gown"—and dashed across the cold stone floor to the bedroom, where her toes sank into the rug's deep wool. She blew out all but one flame on the bedside stand, pulled back the covers and climbed into the deep, wide featherbed, enjoying its soft security. With a last look toward the window and the moon, she stretched to blow out the light, then settled into a deep sleep filled with dreams of costumed children, magical ceilings, dark hallways and heather-strewn mountains.

oOo

Since last meeting with Dumbledore, Severus had prowled Hogwarts' halls, looking for miscreant students too full of sweets-charged energy to sleep. _Surely the Weasley twins are__ up to no good_. Snape's lip curled with anticipation. The possibility of deducting points even before classes began appealed to the Potions master, who silently strode through corridor after corridor, listening for any misplaced sound. Despite his best efforts, however, he found no sign of out-of-dorms young people, so he returned to his quarters and waited.

At 2 a.m., Snape snapped closed a book, rose from his desk, and pulled on a woolen robe. There still was one further task to perform before turning in.

Using his wand as a torch, Snape wove his way through the castle's corridors and stairs until he reached the landing outside the unwanted guest's door. He lowered the wand's light level, and with an unuttered incantation the door swung open silently. Snape stepped carefully inside, surveying the room and the closed bedroom door. The woman's purse was lying on the chaise. Unhurriedly, Snape opened the small bag, obviously made from a Muggle synthetic material, and removed the contents individually, making a mental note of where he found each.

A folded envelope contained Northwest and British Airways tickets, only the stubs remaining of the flights from Seattle to Chicago, and Chicago to London. There was a BritRail pass good for two weeks' use. The itinerary matched the tickets' flight routes and times, plus listed accommodations: four nights at Inverlochy Castle, a bed and breakfast in Glasgow for two, five in a Harrogate B&B, and a last night in a mid-level chain hotel near Heathrow.

The U.S. Passport contained stamps for only one prior trip, that being nine years earlier to the United Kingdom, stamped by British immigration at Heathrow Airport and by the American counterpart upon return though New York City. The black-and-white photo showed she had barely changed since the document was issued, just a slightly different hair style. "Beasley, Nadia Diana," read the name on special paper. "Date of Birth 23 Dec 58. Sex F. Place of Birth Oregon, U.S.A." An Oregon driver's license contained verifying information, plus listed a Forest Grove residence and the facts that she had brown eyes, was 5'7" and 130 pounds. The purse also contained keys, health and auto insurance cards, travelers' checks, American and British cash, lipstick, and hand cream.

Again, Snape found nothing in the purse's lining, nor any signs of magic. He replaced everything precisely, then stood, slowly guiding the lighted wand around the room to see if there was anything else to examine. Seeing nothing, the Potions master stealthily approached the bedroom door, whispered an incantation and listened. Despite the door being of heavy oak and the walls solidly-mortared stone, he could clearly hear the woman's rhythmic breathing. After several moments, he stepped away. The wind had come up, blowing a light rain against the windows.

Snape silently let himself out and returned to him rooms for rest. The day would open with an early breakfast, allowing him to take Miss Beasley to the Hogwarts Express while the students and rest of the staff were occupied with their morning meal in the Great Hall. Once he'd helped her aboard the Express and—Snape smiled with cruel anticipation—Obliviate her, removing all memories of Hogwarts and its denizens, and leaving her to believe she'd spent the night in just another tourist-catering landmark. Then he would begin a dreary day with Third-Year Gryffindors and Slytherins undoubtedly mucking up the simple lesson.

oOo

NOTES: Dumbledore is going with "Miss" because the Wizarding world seems to be far behind the times; I just can't picture him using what many older folk might think of as a feminist term. Miss Beasley, BTW, was the favorite doll's name on the 1960s TV show _A Family Affair_.

Inverlochy Castle is a luxury hotel in the Scottish Highlands.


	3. Chapter 3

Summary: An increasingly impatient Snape ushers the unplanned guest off Hogwarts' grounds. Overall story occurs from CoS to post-DH. AU, EWE.

_Warnings:__ AU, EWE. __Rated T__. _

Disclaimer:This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made by the humble (and quite poor) fanfic author, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. It's purely for fun. ~ Although potions ingredients in this fiction story are sometimes listed as possible treatments, none of them should be used for such purposes unless in consultation with a qualified medical doctor.

oOo

**Principles and Honor**

CHAPTER 3

The plastic travel clock shrilly announced half-past six, and Nadia shot up in bed. It took a moment to get her bearings, and she smiled when remembering where she was. After washing and making up, she dressed and had just settled down in the sitting room with her prayer book when there was a rap at the door. She jumped up to open it, and Filch tottered in with a silver tray covered with lidded dishes.

"Good morning, Mr. Filch—and Mrs. Norris," she said.

Filch grunted in obvious disagreement, while Mrs. Norris placed her forefeet on the coffee table, eagerly sniffing the scents wafting from the food. "Off, my sweet," Filch hissed, and Mrs. Norris signaled her annoyance with quick flicks of her tail as she sauntered off. "Trust everything was all right," he added to Nadia.

"Yes, thank you. I had an amazingly good rest," she agreed.

"Professor Snape'll be here in forty-five minutes." His squint-eyed glance carried a warning. "Best be ready."

"I will be," she assured.

With a quick bow, Filch left to tend to his duties.

After breakfasting on oatmeal with cream, strawberries, a boiled egg and hot tea, Nadia brushed her teeth and fixed her lipstick for the day's short journey. She added a touch more of black mascara, which emphasized her dark eyes, repacked and sat to await the professor.

Snape was precisely on time, arriving as the mantel clock chimed the third quarter hour. Nadia pulled open the heavy door with an "Oomph!" and greeted Snape, who stepped inside as she pulled on the backpack. Excusing herself for a quick look around for anything left behind, Nadia returned with an "All clear!" and held the door for Snape. He looked down his nose at her with disapproval.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"Why is it that American women think that they must do everything themselves?" he drawled, his eyes lifted heavenward in mock supplication.

"Oh!" She released the door handle and quickly stepped onto the landing. "I'm so used to having to open doors myself. Usually the only men I run into who do that are old. With guys my age or younger, it's whoever gets there first."

"It would do you well," Snape observed stiffly and he smartly shut the door, "to expect to be treated like a lady. Otherwise, you will receive the treatment you deserve."

Feeling as if cold water had been flung in her face on a wintry day, Nadia blinked hard as they wound their way down the tower. Unable to think of a suitable response, she did noted with chagrin that he didn't offer to carry her backpack.

Reaching the ground floor, they quickly crossed to the Entrance Hall's enormous doors and stepped out to a bright fall day. He found it highly annoying that she walked backwards a while to take in Hogwarts' impressive towers and ramparts, then had to run to catch up to him.

Reaching the gate, Snape unlocked it wandlessly with an unspoken spell as she looked across the grass to the greenhouses and mountains beyond, then stepped aside for her. With a thankful smile and nod, Nadia walked toward the trail head, followed by the dark Potions master. He remained pointedly silent, so she hiked behind without attempting conversation. Instead, she enjoyed the scenery and fresh air, and considered a good afternoon's hike after arriving at her correct destination. She was wondering whether Inverlochy Castle lacked electricity when they rounded the trail's last bend and found the Hogwarts Express just steps away.

The scarlet engine steamed as they mounted the platform, and he guided her to a middle car. Nadia climbed the few steps toward the door—and fell back. Snape's instantly outstretched arms broke her fall as her right hand went to her nose.

"What—?" she stammered, looking up at the train. Her fingers carefully dabbed at her nose, and she winced.

"What appears to be the problem, Miss Beasley?" Snape inquired dryly.

"I-I hit something." She looked in surprise at blood on her fingers.

"Really, Miss Beasley," Snape said disdainfully. "Simply put one foot in front of the other."

"Thank you, professor," she replied heatedly, "but how do you explain the bloody nose?"

The unbending man looked down on her with supreme unconcern. "Boarding a train is elementary. Up," he ordered.

Irritated by his patrician tone, she fished a tissue from her pocket, pressed it to her nose, and climbed up again, thinking, _Pity the children in this guy's class._ Just as suddenly as the first time, there was an impact and she jerked backward, missing a fall only because she was grasping the brass handle along the staircase.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Is this a jest?"

"No, Mr. Snape, it isn't," she said sharply. "I'm not a mime."

His black eyes flashed. _"Professor_ Snape," he snapped, the left side of his mouth pulling back in a teeth-showing grimace. "Now enough of this nonsense. Shall we try again?"

The conductor peered curiously from the train's end, and Snape waved him away. This time Severus followed directly behind her. When she reached the same troublesome spot and her progression stopped, he impatiently pressed the small of her back to propel her forward. He was unable to budge the woman, and checked that she wasn't digging in her heels. Her nose flattened.

"Ow!" she said, turning her head to press the tissue afresh to her nose, which now bled freely. "That really wasn't necessary!"

"I apologize," Snape replied, observing her closely. From inside his robe, he pulled a white handkerchief, which she accepted since the thin paper could not cope with the flow.

"I'm really not doing anything," she said, confounded. "This is just plain … weird."

Snape concentrated on the apparent problem spot. The place she kept ramming into was half-way up the stairs. He walked up and down the car's short stairs and resumed his place on the platform. "Please try again," he requested in a modulated voice.

He watched carefully as, sighing, she stretched an arm before her, and climbed again, coming to a sudden stop. Her hand pressed flat and hard enough that, when she turned around and showed it to Snape, he could see white spots is if her palms and fingers had been pushing against glass.

_She's not playing me for a fool after all,_ he thought. Miss Beasley had genuinely been injured by some unseen force. His instinct was to examine the area with his wand, but there was no question of doing so with the Muggle present.

Her brows knitted in bewildered frustration. "I don't understand."

"I believe it's time to see the Headmaster," Snape said crisply.

Leaving her to tend to the nose bleed, he smoothly explained to the conductor that there was a change in plans and the woman would be staying after all. The conductor waved to the engineer, who sounded the whistle and then the Express slowly chugged down the track through Hogsmeade.

The professor eased the pack off of her back and led the way back to Hogwart. Once back in the guest suite, he motioned for her to sit and disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth.

"Hold this against your nose with one hand while pressing the nasal septum with the other," he said, showing her the precise spot. Once sure she was following his instructions correctly, Snape stepped to the door. "I'll fetch the Headmaster. It should only be a few minutes."

Dumbledore was in a main hallway, happily watching the students troop to their second classes. Snape quietly related what had occurred. "Go to your class, Severus," Dumbledore said. "I'll see to her."

Dumbledore found Nadia tenderly blotting her nose, which showed signs of bruising. Bending down to take a look, he smiled sympathetically. "Tsk, tsk. I'm sorry, my dear. Better?" She nodded.

"This really is quite perplexing," he continued, taking the opposite chair. "There's another train leaving tomorrow morning. I hope that won't be a great inconvenience."

"No, sir, it won't." After another dab, she decided it might be safe to set aside the cloth. "But why couldn't I get on it today?"

"Well, that is a mystery," Dumbledore agreed, "and we are working on it. Have no worries, you'll be on the next train—after some good meals and another night's sleep, of course," he added with a twinkle. "Why don't you rest here this morning? I'll have some tea brought."

"Thank you," Nadia said, her expression betraying confusion and concern.

Dumbledore exited, and Nadia went into the bathroom to wash out the cloth and prepare another, just in cast. Upon re-entering the sitting room, she was surprised to find a full service of tea was already on the coffee table, complete with scones, jam and Devonshire cream. She looked at the door a few seconds, back to the tray, and then sat, perplexed.

Thoroughly enjoying the tea and undoubtedly the best scones she'd ever had, Beasley pondered her situation. _What blocked me from boarding the train? Why wouldn't a boarding school have electricity by the late 20th Century, even in a remote part of Scotland? Why does this entire situation feel …well, odd?_

Coming up with no answers, Nadia decided to make the best of the situation. She pulled out her prayer book to begin where she'd left off when Mr. Filch arrived with breakfast. She re-checked her itinerary, then drifted to the sitting room window. The night's rain had left the landscape pristine. Birch, fir and other trees waved slowly in the breeze, and birds flew to and from the mountains towering in the distance.

Moving to the bedroom, she climbed up onto the window seat and opened one of the windows, taking a deep breath of the clean Scottish air. This window provided an outstanding view of the deep loch, which spread from a sandy shore several hundred yards from the castle, and wrapped its way through the mountains. A meadow or two hinted at wild grasses and flowers far away.

Wandering back to the sitting room, she perused the bookcase, pulling out a tome of Scottish history and a slim book of Robert Burns' poems to take back to the window seat. She remained there until Mr. Filch returned with a lunch tray. He obviously had many tasks and hurried off with a mumbled, "'Afternoon." Even Mrs. Norris was too busy to come in, simply waiting at the door for her master.

Chewing a chicken sandwich thoughtfully, Beasley wondered about the suite's décor. As soon as she finished eating, the amateur antiques hound inspected the desk, examining its drawer joints, the bare wood on the underneath side, the cuts and planes. It appeared to be an original, or else someone had gone to great lengths to make a detailed reproduction. Likewise, other furnishings seemed to be authentic. There were signs of genuine age on the paintings and prints. She carefully removed the mantel clock to take a close look at the casing, and eased open the back. Its machinations were fine and complex, unlike those in modern timepieces.

Obviously, there was money involved with the school, or had been in the past. _Wouldn't it make sense to sell some valuable antiques to electrify the school?_

Dumbledore joined her for dinner, which Filch served. They had a lively conversation about interesting places in Britain and the nation's history. The Headmaster deemed it safe to share some of his theories about Stonehenge and other stone circles, tantalizing her with old tales of Druids and magic. His ideas fit her notion of him being an intelligent and kind, if distinctively odd, fellow. She didn't get a chance to ask any questions about Hogwarts questions, however.

oOo

As arranged the prior night, Professor Snape returned mid-morning. This time she was careful to allow him to hold the door for her. She did pause before picking up the backpack, but when it became apparent he didn't intend to carry it, she slung it over a shoulder. Snape flinched at the decidedly unladylike action, and silently followed her through the castle, down the walk and to the Hogsmeade trail.

Approaching the train car's step, Severus bowed his head for her to proceed, and she smiled at the courtly gesture, one she'd only seen in movies. Her pleasant reverie came to an immediate halt when she banged into the hidden barrier. Her right elbow, jutting out from carrying the pack on one side, took the brunt this time as she crashed into the stairway's side wall. Snape snatched the bag from her with one hand and caught her left forearm with the other, steadying her.

"You know," she gasped in pain, "this isn't funny."

"I assure you, Miss Beasley, this is not a joke." A slight furrow deepened between his brows as if he were stumped. "There is, perhaps, another way," said Snape. Waving off the conductor, he led her back to the path. Once they were comfortably out of sight from Hogsmeade, Severus led her a few steps inside the forest. She looked about uneasily.

"I assure you, Miss Beecham, nothing untoward is about to happen. Please take my arm," said Snape. After initial hesitation, Nadia did as instructed. "Now hold on firmly."

Snape twisted and—Crack!—was gone. Startled, Nadia looked around. "Professor?" she said. "Professor!" Increasingly anxious, she was just backing toward the trail (she thought, but was going in the wrong direction), when with another Crack! the black-clad professor was back.

She stared at him, wild-eyed and speechless.

Relieving her of the pack, Snape dangled it with his right hand. "I would be best," he said, "to go to the Headmaster's office."

With a gentle but firm hand, he turned the stunned woman back to trail. Once there, however, Nadia pulled away and put some distance between them.

"What just happened?" she demanded. "You-you disappeared! I think." Her voice trailed.

"This is something the Headmaster must address," replied Snape, his eyes forward as he continued up the mountain.

She followed and kept a sharp eye on him. The crunch of pine needles behind him gave no cause for him to turn to check that she was following.

oOo

The sounds of hundreds of young people well into dinner echoed into the Entrance Hall. Snape left her, striding into the Great Hall, and emerging several minutes later with Dumbledore and the tall woman who had lead the youngest students the previous night. Nadia nodded to them, not without some puzzlement, and followed the two eldest, Snape taking the rear.

Upon reaching the seventh floor, they approached a blank wall marked by a gargoyle statue. Dumbledore whispered, and the stone figure leapt aside, causing Nadia to jump back in alarm. When she next looked, a doorway stood where the gargoyle had been. Dumbledore gave her a reassuring smile, then stepped through the door. Nadia hesitated, so Professor McGonagall stepped past with a murmured apology.

"It usually doesn't hurt," Snape said in a snide tone, his mouth twitching. Gingerly, Nadia placed her foot on the staircase, which moved like a circular escalator made of stone. Amused, Snape stood two steps down, prepared to catch her should she lose her balance.

"Come in, come in, my dear," Dumbledore said cheerfully, guiding her to the middle of three chairs facing a large desk. "I apologize if you were startled by the unusual conveyance. My old legs." He smiled wearily.

"Um, yes, I'm sure it's a, uh, great convenience," Nadia said, trying to keep her composure as she looked around the odd circular room whose wall was jammed with paintings—portraits, to be exact. Snape closed the oak door behind them, taking the seat to Nadia's left.

The Headmaster's desk contained books, parchments, scarlet quill and silver inkpot. Scattered about were various-small tables holding assorted odd little machines with spinning parts, occasionally spewing steam and emitting a whir. The wall behind the desk contained a shelf holding the disheveled hat she'd seen the previous night, and a lovely, jeweled sword. Directly behind the Headmaster's chair was a portrait of a man with scant hair; the subject seemed to have tried to strike a distinguished pose, but looked more feeble than dignified. Books were scattered about, giving the office the appearance of a very old, eccentric library. An exotic, red-orange bird preened just behind the door.

Dumbledore distributed tea while she curiously examined the room. She picked up a dainty cup and saucer, just to give her nervous hands something to do.

"Well, my dear," Dumbledore began gently, "Hogwarts—this castle—is a school. A school of witchcraft and wizardry."

Nadia sat very still, her smile now frozen as she considered whether this kindly old man and his colleagues were teasing her or, as the British say, barmy. She stole sideways glances at Snape and McGonagall. The woman darted the old man a sideways glance but otherwise kept a poker face.

Buying time, Nadia took a sip of tea, setting the cup and saucer a spindly table between her and Snape. The ornamental brass mechanism on it chugged merrily.

"Oh. You mean as in witches? Spells? Broomsticks and such?" she asked gamely.

"Yes, actually," Dumbledore said. "The students here are all witches and wizards, as are we." He tilted his head. "A little hard to believe, isn't it?"

"Well—yes," she said, her mouth twisting; she couldn't decide whether to laugh, smile or be apprehensive. "Last night was very impressive—you've obviously got some people talented in robotics and CG."

Anticipating that reaction, Dumbledore smiled indulgently. "I suppose a slight demonstration may be called for," he said, pulling from a pocket what appeared to be a carved stick. As his captive guest curiously watched, Dumbledore pointed at a book on his desk, made a small curving motion with his wand, and the book opened.

"Wow! That's good," Beasley said, not knowing what else to say.

Dumbledore looked to Minerva for support, but before she could respond, Snape sighed, pulled out his wand, and pointed to the side table next to Nadia. "_Wingardiam Leviosa_,"he murmured. The floral cup and saucer soared above her head, then settled down to float at chest level. Nadia gasped.

"Please, spare us any fainting," Snape said in a bored tone. Both the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress shot him disapproving looks.

"I've never fainted in my life!" Nadia snapped, grabbing the saucer, which she was afraid would fall into her lap. Snape smirked with satisfaction, and her cheeks reddened.

"Severus. Really," McGonagall chastised.

Her chest heaving, Nadia tried to rationalize what had just occurred._ It's just a trick_, she thought, even though she was unable to find see any strings or other possibilities. She instinctively passed her hand above the teacup and saucer, expecting the find clear thread.

"It really is magic, my dear," Dumbledore sympathized. "It's must be a bit difficult when one encounters it the first time."

"Well, um, yes," she ventured. "I have seen some impressive magic shows on TV. Always wondered how it was done … "

She heard a snort, which sounded as if it came from behind her, and turned slightly. No one was there, just a row of the portraits depicting individuals from various periods, including a dark 19th Century man with a sharply unpleasant expression. She could have sworn the painted figure moved ever so slightly.

"This is not television, Miss Beasley, nor is this a Muggle magician's show," Snape hissed before the Headmaster could rein him in. "Perhaps you'd like—"

"I'll handle this, thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said, motioning his Potions master to calm himself. "Minerva, would you kindly—?"

"As you wish, Headmaster," his deputy replied, then turned to face Nadia. "This may be somewhat unnerving, but don't be afraid."

As Nadia watched, the Scots professor melded into a tabby cat, which sat purring in McGonagall's chair. Nadia jerked to the far side of her chair before realizing that put her in closer proximity to the daunting Professor Snape on the other side of the narrow table between them. Speechless, she swallowed, took a deep breath, and turned to face Dumbledore.

"Thank you, Minerva. You may Transfigure back now," Dumbledore invited the cat, which promptly melded back into an elder woman. Nadia blinked several times.

"I do sense a fainting spell coming on," Snape observed, calmly swirling his tea before taking a sip.

"I-I—don't understand," the American stuttered, shrinking into her chair in fear.

Dumbledore rose and, taking a crystal bottled from the cabinet behind him, poured an amber fluid into a cut-glass low-ball glass. "Perhaps this will help. Firewhisky. It's similar to what you call Scotch."

With shaking hand, Nadia accepted the glass, and tentatively sipped. Finding the alcohol akin to American whiskey, she took a long, slow sip, closing her eyes as it burned down her throat. Dumbledore and McGonagall watched with concern until alcohol-induced relaxation became apparent. "Thank you," she sighed.

Shape sat with his arms crossed over his chest. "Convinced?" he asked without requiring—or expecting—an answer.

"V-very," she stuttered "Wha—what was that you did?" Nadia asked McGonagall.

"It's called 'Transfiguration,' dear. That's what I teach at Hogwarts," she smiled worriedly, as if she'd seriously startled a First-Year Muggle-born.

"Severus teaches Potions," Dumbledore said, as Snape nodded without looking at Nadia. "We also have professors who teach Herbology, Charms, Magical Creatures—yes, even broomstick flying," he smiled broadly at his last addition. "Truly."

She'd paled considerably, but determined to regain her composure, if only to wipe the irritating smirk from Professor Severus Snape's thin lips. Perhaps—just perhaps—he really _did_ disappear before her eyes, but she wouldn't ask about that and give him the satisfaction of making yet another smart remark.

"What surprises us most," McGonagall added, "is that you were actually able to get to Hogwarts. You shouldn't have been able to get on the Express, let alone into the castle."

"So," Nadia said gingerly, "that explains all of the questions—and disbelief." She cocked her head toward Snape at the last phrase. "But why can't I leave? If you can use … _magic_, why can't you get me out of here?" she looked from one to the other with confusion.

"We are still trying to understand why," Dumbledore admitted with the air of pondering _The Daily Prophet_'s crossword.

"Indeed," Snape interjected dryly.

"It's not as if I planned any of this," she said, directing a sharp glance at Snape, before returning her gaze to Dumbledore and McGonagall, who listened sympathetically. "While your castle's certainly interesting," she added ruefully, "I didn't intend to wind up being, well, trapped."

"Or perhaps _you_ are the trap?" Snape suggested softly.

She swiveled in her chair to level her eyes at the insinuating Potions master. "Do you _really_ think I'm purposefully blocking your efforts? Do you really think I'd risk losing my job, and therefore my home? Do I strike you as some sort of—nut?"

Snape's long smirk answered affirmatively before he said flatly, "You could be a spy."

Her nostrils flared. "A _spy_! Are you _crazy_? A spy for _what_? In case you haven't heard, the Cold War's over!"

Snape's countenance darkened, and Dumbledore stepped in.

"We do have some questions, my dear, about how it is possible for you to enter Hogwarts," he said apologetically, coming around his desk to bend in front of her. "You see, there are powerful charms and spells here to prevent Muggles—that's what we call non-Magical people—from even seeing Hogwarts. It should be impossible for you to be here."

"So my presence could be seen as … threatening?" she surmised. She forced herself not to glance at Snape.

"I would not like to call it such, but we would be more comfortable if we could determine exactly what happened and why," Dumbledore admitted.

Nadia leaned toward the Headmaster. "What would you like me to do?" she asked earnestly. "I rather suspect now that Mr. Snape here"—Severus scowled at the perceived disrespect—"has been through my things, so you know that I have a valid passport and plane ticket. I think I have some business cards with me. But obviously, that's not enough." She raised an eyebrow.

"What I propose," Dumbledore said gently, "is that you allow the use of Legilimency. It basically means to look into your mind."

"Mind reading?" Her face showed a mixture of disbelief and cautiousness. _After all, I did just witness a human turn into a cat,_ she reasoned.

"Legilimency," Snape sighed, placing aside his teacup, "is the art seeing another person's memories and emotions. One skilled in the art can reach into the mind to find such memories and feelings, and to interpret them correctly. While the Latin translation is, literally, 'mind-reader,' it is _not_," he emphasized the negative exactingly, "mind reading."

Enrapt by the concept but disturbed by the implications, Nadia turned to the Headmaster for reassurance.

"It can sometimes be slightly uncomfortable at the moment, but it's entirely harmless," Dumbledore answered.

"It can be more uncomfortable when the subject is unwilling," Snape added dryly.

"I'm a very honest and forthright person," Nadia insisted. "If my integrity is in question, I'm more than willing to cooperate."

"And, I assure you," Dumbledore said firmly, pointedly looking at Snape and then more softly to Nadia, "that you will be entirely unharmed. Severus may indeed appear severe, but he will not do anything that could cause you mental, emotional or physical distress."

Snape bowed his head formally toward the Headmaster.

"All right," Nadia said, absently downing the rest of the Firewhisky, which had remained untouched since the two initial sips. Snape's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly with satisfaction.

"And meanwhile, I'm sure you could use a bit of entertainment," Dumbledore said. "You might enjoy reading about wizarding history and some of the courses here." Snape shot a disapproving glare, which Dumbledore cheerfully ignored. "I'll bring some to your rooms later today. Is there anything else you might want or need?"

"I do like music," she ventured.

"Ah, Professor Flitwick—our Charms instructor—has some instruments he can loan you," Dumbledore said with approval. Noticing a continued worried look on her face, he inquired, "Are you still concerned about Professor Snape, Miss Beasley?"

Snape bodily turned to her with an expression of twisted amusement, but she shook her head without noticing. "It's just-the lute I ordered and paid for before Ileft for Britain," she explained.

"Not to worry. Not to worry," Dumbledore said, making a note on parchment with an old-fashioned feather quill. "I'll see to it that it is picked up and immediately brought to you."

"Thank you," she replied with relief. "That's very generous of you." From the corner of her eye, she noticed Snape's evident boredom.

"Delightful!" Dumbledore responded, making up for his youngest professor's poor manners. "I would enjoy hearing you play."

Bringing the interview to an end, the Headmaster rose and took her hand, giving it a warm squeeze. "Don't worry about anything, my dear. We'll have you back on schedule soon. And until then, please enjoy Hogwarts' best hospitality. Mr. Filch is waiting for you downstairs."

She relaxed in the old man's close presence. "Thank you. The room, the food, everything has been wonderful." She walked to the door with the understanding that Filch and his trustworthy cat return her back to the tower suite. "Good night," she addressed all.

"Good night," Dumbledore and McGonagall said in unison. Snape only nodded curtly. She closed the door behind her.

"Severus," Dumbledore's face became serious. "I want you to conduct Legilimency daily until we can get to the bottom of this. Use her rooms—the better to avoid prying eyes."

_Gryffindors' in particular__, _Snape thought.

"Do everything necessary, but do try to elicit her cooperation by being at least … courteous," Dumbledore implored.

Snape nodded once. "My class schedule and House responsibilities will necessitate meeting in the evening," he agreed. "If I have detention-?" his lip curled.

"Minerva will see that it's carried out," Dumbledore answered in a businesslike fashion. "Spend as much time as you need on this problem. I want it resolved and her back home, without a memory of Hogwarts."

Snape rose and bowed slightly. "As you wish, Headmaster. Minerva," he finished. With a slight bow, he exited the office.

"I don't like this situation," Dumbledore admitted to his deputy, who nodded. "Not at all."

oOo

The Headmaster certainly had company in that opinion. Well into the night, the lone American lay staring at the four-poster bed's canopy.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

oOo

A/N: I hope you're enjoying this story. Please R&R—let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

A/Ns:Welcome to the wonderful Noleme, an answer to prayer: A Snape-centric beta who volunteered to edit _Principles and Honor_. My heartfelt thanks for your graciously given time and thoughtful guidance, Noleme.

Many apologies for the delay. Muse unexpectedly went on a long vacation, and upon returning promptly went on strike. Muses are such flighty things. Plus, the ffn muse went crazy, disallowing additions to the original version of _Principles and Honor_. Therefore, this is a reposted version of _P&H_. The first three chapters are reposts and chapter 4 is new.

Disclaimer:This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made by the humble (and quite poor) fanfic author, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

oOo

Chapter 4

Nadia slept fitfully. Her dreams featured a long-nosed, sneering man transforming into a fox wearing a pointed cap, and an ancient man with blazing blue eyes standing in a huge, lightning-lit room, his black robe billowing as if buffeted by a storm.

Periodically, she awoke and pondered whether what she'd experienced in this strange castle was real. It was dumbfounding that she couldn't board the train. Come to think of it, why didn't someone simply put her on a bus? She'd be willing to rent a car. Odd, now that she thought of it: There was no sign of autos in that village.

_Dammit._ She'd paid good money to go on vacation. All she wanted to do was to see the sites, make a few memories and go home.

Granted, she was getting a lot more memories than she'd bargained for, and money couldn't buy such an experience. If, indeed, it really was a school for witches. Was it a theatrical school, as it appeared—or a psycho ward?

The second choice made sense. Special effects had improved dramatically in her lifetime. With computers and a whiz kid, even a high school production could have impressive visuals and animatronics.

What had she witnessed in the old man's strange office? The woman—Mc-Something—really did seem to turn into a cat, and she couldn't deny that the cup and saucer had risen. But that was all smoke and mirrors, right? It wasn't proof that magic is real. If it was, it would be common knowledge. Right?

She sat up in bed, made a comfortable back rest by stacking pillows and plopped back. The old woman and man seemed sincere in their proclamations that they were a witch and wizard, which was discomforting. Professor Snape seemed … malicious, with a touch of glee about it.

A shiver tingled down her spine. _Maybe they're nuts. They've gone mad in this remote place._

Reaching to the nightstand, Nadia found and quickly opened the match box, and lit the candle. Clutching the holder, she went to the closed door and listened for several seconds. Silence. Slowly opening the door, she thrust the candlestick into the sitting room and then more carefully stuck her head through the narrow opening. _No one there._ Quickly moving across the cold room, she checked the main door. _Locked tight. Good._

Sighing with relief, she hurried back to bed. But as soon as she settled against the pillows, thoughts returned of Snape sneering at her, and the inexplicable way her bathroom was cleaned and her meals delivered without a trace of anyone. Springing to her knees, she tugged loose each of the curtains tied around the four-poster until she was surrounded by heavy fabric. It might not offer actual protection, but at least she felt safer.

With that, Nadia shifted onto her side and returned to sleep. In the dream that followed, she fell down the rabbit hole, where everything—a fox-faced man dancing with a cat-tailed woman, and a jolly codger hosting a tea party for children in Halloween costumes—made perfect sense.

oOo

Severus Snape, too, spent much of the night awake. Illuminated by two candelabra, he stood in his private lab, long fingers carefully dropping precisely cut ingredients into a smoking cauldron.

Earlier in the evening, he'd corrected the term's first piles of essays. _Piles of Hippogriff dung, more like._ As he sat pondering the Beasley problem over a glass of elf-made wine, the Baron reported that the eldest male Slytherin prefect, Smiteson, had put the fear of Merlin into his charges during the first weekly House meeting. _That might ensure a few undisturbed nights._

Swirling the red liquid, Snape smiled. His relationship with the Baron went back to Snape's childhood. Once the ghost had taken measure of the student Severus, he'd silently signaled the boy when aware that the Marauders lay in wait. After Snape was named Head of House, the Baron had offered experienced counsel, relieved that someone capable—albeit young—succeeded the shallow, unseeing Slughorn. The two of them—pale young man, millennium-old spectre—made a good team.

Upon draining the glass, the Potions master had gone into his lab to brew and think.

Once the potion base had reached the optimal temperature, he added the ingredients in order, stirring the requisite number of times clockwise and widdershins. Tomorrow, he'd begin Legilimency on the interloping Muggle or whatever she was. He'd learn her secrets, Dumbledore would find a way to remove her, and they could get on with their work. Merlin knew he had plenty to do without her adding to the load.

If Legilimency proved insufficient to this case, the Headmaster might deem it appropriate to use the Truth Potion. Hogwarts always had a bottle protected by a lock spell. It was wise to prepare a replacement batch of Veritaserum, Ministry rules be damned. He answered to Dumbledore, not those incompetent twonks.

oOo

Dumbledore dropped by shortly after breakfast to present Nadia with a white paper bag labeled "Honeydukes Sweetshop, Hogsmeade."

"I thought you might like to try an assortment of goodies," he said while standing in the doorway. "Also, something special has arrived." He moved his left arm from behind his back to produce a large, odd-sized case.

"The lute! Thank you!" Nadia excitedly seized the case and opened the lid, pulling out the bulbous stringed instrument. "Isn't it lovely? It's made from maple."

"Yes, it is," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps you might grant me a little concert?"

"Of course! I need a little practice. They say that it takes as much time to tune the silly things as to play them," she laughed. Holding the instrument by the neck, she hugged the old wizard, then drew back sheepishly. "Oh, I'm sorry."

Dumbledore chuckled. "My dear, it isn't every day that an old wizard is embraced by a mere girl."

"Hardly," she scoffed, yet smiled at the compliment. "I'm nearly 32."

"Still, just a very young thing." Dumbledore patted her shoulder kindly.

Fixing him with a hopeful look, she asked brightly, "Is there any chance I could get out for a while today to take a walk? Look around the school?"

The old man's expression turned apologetic. "I'm sorry, my dear," he said, taking her free hand gently in both of his wrinkled ones. "I am busy with administrative duties, and the staff and students will begin a full day of classes soon." Before she could suggest roaming alone, he continued. "Many of the staircases are unpredictable, so it would be unsafe for you to explore alone. I'd fear for your safety alone outside. Our forest has many wild animals and snakes, and some may wander onto the grounds."

She started. "Snakes! I didn't think there were any in Britain."

"You're thinking of Ireland," Dumbledore chuckled. "The rest of Europe has snakes, including adders. I believe an asp killed Cleopatra," he added, thoughtfully pulling his beard. His eyes refocused on her. "Do you like to read?"

"I _love_ a good book," she breathed.

"Delightful! I shall send some books in with breakfast. You can read about Hogwarts, if not see it all for yourself," he suggested.

"I'd enjoy that." She beamed at him. _Nothing like a good book to pass the time._

oOo

The Headmaster departed, and she spent a half hour in prayer until Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris arrived with breakfast precariously perched on a stack of books. Afterward she climbed onto the window seat to enjoy the view and to read from the wizard history and Muggle studies books Dumbledore had provided.

Flipping through the books removed most of Nadia's doubts about the existence of magic. More precisely, the moving illustrations and photographs did. She gaped at the first one for a full minute before looking at it from every angle, then vainly feeling the pages and the covers for a tell-tale lump indicating a computer chip, a wire, _something_. How that could be faked? Still, believing in magic went against all logic.

Once that novelty waned, she began reading _Hogwarts: A History_. It was by turns entertaining, informative and preposterous. A case in point: Contrary to what the book claimed, she could see Hogwarts. But one question remained foremost: How to explain the moving photos? She saved the normal-looking (it lacked a "Ministry of Magic" publication stamp and moving pictures) Scottish history book for bedtime reading.

Lunch arrived while she was in the bathroom, as did tea in the late afternoon. She practiced the lute for an hour, then read from the more advanced wizard histories and timelines, plus the simply abominable book purporting to describe Muggle history and politics. Dinner, which also arrived while she was in the bathroom, was a true Cordon Bleu treat. It was accompanied by a note from the Headmaster, who apologized for being unable to join her and reminded her that Professor Snape would arrive at "half past eight."

Nadia's self-prescribed Legil-whatever pre-treatment was a nice soak in the tub. One of her dreams had Dumbledore popping lemon drops, which was humorous, but less so was Severus Snape's eyes boring into hers, which had jarred her awake.

oOo

At precisely eight-thirty, there was a sharp rap at the door. Responding to her called greeting, the door swung open and Professor Snape strode in. She considered offering him a cup of tea until noting his distinctly businesslike expression.

"Are you ready, Miss Beasley?" he asked rhetorically. "I suggest you make yourself comfortable."

"Ah. It's time for the Legal—Legla—"

"Legilimency," he finished for her. "Yes. I must check my house at ten, so I do not wish for any unnecessary delays."

"Yes, sir," she said, taken slightly aback at his brusqueness but reminding herself that he was a busy professional—of some kind. "What do I need to do?"

"Merely relax your mind," Snape instructed, "and look into my eyes."

_Ah. It's hypnotism,_ she thought. _How's that going to get me out of here? _She took a deep breath and sat back into the tufted club chair."Okay. Can you do it from the other chair?"

"Across the room, if need be." Snape flicked away the ludicrous question with a shoulder shrug. He took off his robe, draping it on the chair's back, and revealing a high-collared, multi-buttoned jacket appearing to be from the early Victorian period. Just a touch of white showed above the collar; otherwise, his dress was black, like his eyes and loose, neck-length hair. While certainly not the norm, the garb suited his manners, Nadia thought.

He glanced quickly at the several textbooks on the coffee table, immediately recognizing the open volume as the First Year History of Magic text. The opened pages contained a moving drawing and the heading, "1692: International Confederation of Wizards summit meeting."

"I've been to a hypnotist—"

"This is not hypnotism, Miss Beasley," he said stiffly.

"I only want to explain that I have been to a hypnotist in trying to cure migraine headaches, and it didn't work well. I wasn't comfortable with her."

"Whether or not you are comfortable is immaterial with Legilimency. Cooperation isn't necessary—unless you'd like the experience to be at least, shall we say, tolerable?"

Swallowing, Nadia nodded, took two deep breaths and then looked into Snape's eyes. _They are so incredibly black_, she thought.Simultaneously disconcerted and fascinated, she maintained a steady gaze. His manner was unthreatening, and she allowed herself to relax.

Snape immediately found her mind unfolding to him. He watched as she walked through King's Cross Station, checking her ticket against the signs. Walking down Platform Nine. Looking up and around several times to the large clock and the platform numbers, referring back to her ticket.

A group of rowdy teenage boys approached on the run, knocking the unaware Nadia backward—and through the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. From her perspective, she saw nothing unusual—the Hogwarts Express apparently reminded her of an earlier travel on and old locomotive. The Express' conductor was blowing the last students aboard, and Nadia dashed for the back of the train, finding an empty compartment and settling down. Snape sensed her extreme drowsiness, and watched as she rolled up her raincoat and placed it against the glass window so that she could cradle her head for sleep.

Her dreams were a mix of impressions: a cramped plane full of Muggles, suggestions of purple heather and blue lakes, checklists of places to visit, the moon reflected on a lake far below a northern trestle, the faint sounds of children laughing and shouting, a woman's voice hawking flavored beans, the ever rhythmic clack and sway of the train.

Snape witnessed the conductor awakening the adult stowaway, her clambering off and striking out for the lake. There was no thought or sense of Hogwarts or of magic, only that of excitement for a castle, yes, but a Muggle one turned hotel.

He went another direction, searching for background. A reception room in a Muggle office. Visitors completing forms. Using a computer and other electronic equipment. A hurried lunch, shopping, alone at night with a book. All mundane memories, all easily counterfeited, as he so well knew from his experience and expertise.

Pushing past, Snape sought something more personal and found it: A man with two young women who resembled him. On a casket before them were photographs of a woman, one of her with the man, another with the girls, the older one sharing the mother's blonde tresses.

The fair-haired girl grown up, in a wedding gown, quickly followed by images of her with one, two, three babies. The family packed into a car outside a house displaying a "For Sale" sign and waving at Nadia as they drive away.

Another wedding. The father, grayer now, stands holding hands with a woman on a shaded veranda, palm trees in the background. Next, the man hugs his two girls at the airport, admonishing them to "Stay in touch with each other, and don't forget me down here."

There were repeated impressions of monotony—the office, cooking, a small apartment with feminine décor, going to and from church and a musical organization with little socializing. All very quiet, very safe, revealing nothing.

It was time to delve more deeply into her mind, searching for secrets she might try to be obscuring from his nimble intellect. _Do not attempt to deceive,_ Snape thought. _You cannot. _As his mind bore insistently, he felt the woman tense but he would not release her. Moving swiftly past a fog of other thoughts, he penetrated like an expertly handled drill, coming to a door, a knock, an opening revealing a gathering of men and women, some in robes and hoods, who were—.

Nadia broke away from him, dropping her head to massage the temples.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm getting a migraine." Reaching for her purse, she fumbled through it, pain etched on her face.

Snape quickly moved around the low table separating them and lifted her chin, looking directly into her eyes. He could see then that she was not feigning; the brown eyes were becoming unfocused, and she was involuntarily trembling, not from fear, he knew, but from physical debilitation. Releasing her, he left the sitting room, returning with a glass of water. She placed a pill in her mouth and with unspoken gratitude accepted the glass, taking a long draught.

"I'd hoped to avoid these on this trip," she said, slumping in the chair, her eyes closed and head resting against the back. "They're devastating."

"How long have you had these headaches?" Snape asked, his baritone voice low and soothing.

"Years," she said feebly. "Usually brought on by stress, but sometimes a low-pressure weather system. Other times from no apparent reason."

Snape took the bottle from her to read the label. "Do you find this remedies the migraines?"

"If I catch it right away, this medicine usually works. If I wait too long, it's no use."

"Have you tried natural remedies?"

"No, they're unregulated," she replied, "and too much like old wives' tales."

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched dangerously, but he did not reply. Putting on his robe, he closed the drapes with an unsaid incantation. "I will leave you to your rest. If you require anything—."

"I'll pull the bell pull." She managed a weak smile, her eyes still closed.

Shutting the door behind him, Snape determined that a migraine would not stop his mental interrogation the next time—and he knew exactly where he would start.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: All characters belong to JK Rowling. No copyright infringements are intended nor is money being made._

CHAPTER 5

The Deputy Headmistress was in Dumbledore's office early the next morning for the Legilimency report. Snape found them seated before a low fire and took the spare chair they'd reserved for him. He waved away the Headmaster's offer of breakfast, accepting plain tea alone.

"Any problems?" Dumbledore asked once Snape had settled back into the leather chair and taken a sip of the robust brew. Few students would recognize this Dumbledore sitting in conference. His face was humorless, his eyes piercing, his carriage steely.

"Minimal," Snape replied matter-of-factly. "The session ended when she succumbed to a migraine." 

"Are you sure?" Minerva asked, her cup resting on her chair's wide, flat arm.

Snape's black eyes briefly swiveled to her, then to the fireplace. "I searched her travel things the first night she was here and analyzed the medicines. They were all legitimate Muggle products, one commonly prescribed to migraineurs."

He crossed one ankle over the other, and returned his cup to its saucer. "If her thoughts are true and untampered, she was behind schedule and searching for an antique _Muggle _locomotive at King's Cross when she was knocked through the Platform Nine and Three Quarters pillar by a group of rambunctious Muggle boys. She did not notice anything except the conductor waving her aboard. Once in a compartment, she promptly fell asleep and remembers nothing of the trip. She expected to arrive at a Highland hotel. Her other memories were of a mundane office job and life."

"Do you believe she adjusted her thoughts or is otherwise hiding anything?" the Headmaster asked.

"There was definite resistance when I sought to see into the memory of a meeting. All of the participants were robed."

The muscles in McGonagall's face stiffened, and the Headmaster resisted the inclination to lean forward in his interest to that revelation. "‛Wizarding robes?" he asked his spy.

"It was but a glimpse—and she shut the door as quickly as possible."

Dumbledore's blue eyes narrowed. "Consciously?"

"Without a doubt." Snape took a long draught of the tea. His face became masked. "I plan to explore that area … thoroughly."

Dumbledore nodded his approval while Minerva's lips thinned into a straight, purposeful line.

"Carry on tonight, then," the Headmaster instructed. Fawkes fluttered, settling back into place on his perch, and his master looked at the clock. "The students will be going to the Great Hall soon. I imagine you both have plenty to do before classes begin."

The meeting finished, all three rose to begin their regular routines.

oOo

The sun had been up for some time when Nadia finally awoke. Initially startled by the unfamiliar surroundings, she groggily recalled where she was. She swung her feet to the floor, yawned, scratched her back, and then tromped unsteadily to the bathroom. The sudden contrast from the bedroom's wool carpet to the uncovered stone floor's cold wrenched her fully awake, and she hurried to start a hot shower. After wrapping her short hair with a towel, she stepped into the stream, grabbed the soap bar and white washcloth, and began scrubbing briskly.

Once dry, she glanced at the watch she'd left on the countertop. Undoubtedly, it was too late for breakfast; she would have to wait for lunch. _Well, it's not like I'm working off all of this tasty food, _she thought as she brushed her teeth. The morning's preparations finished with a dash of makeup and donning jeans, sweater, and socks.

To Nadia's surprise, a freshly lit fire warmed the sitting room and breakfast was on coffee table, next to the wizard books. A glance at the door showed that the bolt was still in place. While it was nice to be well cared for, knowing that someone entered to deliver meals while she was in the bathroom was disconcerting, especially in light of what she understood about the castle and its inhabitants.

The meal of oatmeal, coddled eggs, fresh fruit and tea was filling, but she barely noticed the taste as she ruminated about the previous evening. The Legil-whatever had firmly impressed upon her that magic was, indeed, real. She could actually see thoughts that Snape seem to call up at will. It was as if a microscopic medical probe had been winding through her mind. The experience was so disturbing that she ultimately sought mental and emotional refuge.

She shuddered, and nearly dropped her spoon when someone rapped upon the door.

Hurriedly putting down the bowl, Nadia moved to the door and opened it cautiously.

"I hope I am not disturbing you," Dumbledore said genially, his eyebrows raised.

"Please, come in." She pulled the door open fully, allowing the purple-robed, long-haired man to enter.

He peered at the coffee table where her dishes lay. "Oh, you're still breakfasting."

"No, no. I'm finished. There's still tea. Would you like some?" she offered before remembering there was only one cup.

"Yes, thank you," the old man said, stepping aside to allow her to the cozy seating area.

Once past him, she winced, wondering what to do. But then her eyes darted to the tray to find two, not one, cups. _I'm_ positive _there had been only one._ The thought finished slowly as she alternately suspected, denied the possibility, and again suspected that Dumbledore had somehow caused the new tea cup to be there.

He smiled sheepishly at her expression. "Pardon my presumption?" His hand indicated the unmatched cup.

Nadia gaped as she slowly sat into her still-warm chair.

"Should I be mother?" he asked. The unaccustomed phrase jarred her attention back to him. A wave levitated the teapot, which drifted above the two cups, pouring steaming tea into each before the pot rested again on the tray. A flutter of fingers simultaneously sent a cup and saucer to him, hers to slowly drift to her lap.

Nadia cleared her throat. "Okay. That's real," she said more to herself than to him.

"Have you been enjoying your reading?" the Headmaster inquired, nodding to the books.

That recalled her again-drifting mind to his presence. He amiably answered her many questions relating to wizarding history, relations with Muggles, the magically gifted children attending Hogwarts, and the nature of Hogwarts' four houses. Before Dumbledore left, Nadia performed two lute pieces, earning warm compliments.

She sat back to think. The old man had kindly answered her questions, seeming to believe even the most implausible things she'd read—goblin wars and a Ministry of Magic—and had worked magic as casually as she'd flip on a TV. With a muttered word and strokes of a stick, Snape had clearly delved into her mind. Food and fresh towels appeared and her laundry cleaned without anyone obviously entering the room. It was at once intriguing, exhilarating, unbelievable, and frightening.

It was Nadia's practice to pray daily, often using _The Book of Common Prayer_'s lectionary and collect cycle. That seemed too simple today. Going into the bedroom, she knelt before the window seat, resting her forehead against the cushion, and seriously prayed for God's protection and guidance as rain splattered against the five-story high window.

oOo

Snape knocked and entered while Nadia was practicing the lute. He did not sit, and since he'd previously displayed little patience, she quickly set aside the instrument.

"I think perhaps you should avail yourself of the chaise to help you relax. Not that you need to for me to look into your mind," he responded to her questioning eyebrow. "That is to perhaps avoid another migraine."

"Professor?" She sat on the chaise's edge. "This may be a bit unorthodox, but would you mind holding my hand? It might help me feel trust in you, and that would be the best way for me to be comfortable with this, er, thing you do."

Snape didn't bother addressing what he considered illogical. Pulling over a chair, he sat, bent forward, and took her hand as she lay back. Her fingers were long, slender and unexpectedly strong; her skin was soft and, Snape noticed, cold. That might be from the stone room—or nervousness. What might she be concealing?

"Look at me," he ordered softly. After a deep breath, she lifted her eyes to meet his intensely black orbs. They seemed to pull her into him…

With mastery, Snape swept past the memories he'd already seen, zeroing in on the one he'd barely touched when her migraine had begun. He saw her fist rise to knock on a door, an unknown man open it with a nodded greeting, and she looked around the room at the two dozen or so people. There was strong acceptance and understanding there. She found an empty chair and sat.

It was a rather plain, circular room, with chairs spread evenly around. All present sat quietly and comfortably, and no one spoke. The odd assortment of clothing brought to mind no single era, purpose or location, and there lacked sufficient stimulus for him to determine whether he might ever have been in that place.

All the while, he sensed Beasley's growing anxiety. The muscles in her hand tightened. She struggled fruitlessly to stop or slow him but had no idea how to do so.

Snape soothingly stroked her palm with his index finger even as his mind eased past her flailing opposition. He felt her confusion, her being torn between self-protection and fascination by his ability.

There were similar scenes. The next he chose to delve into, instead of entering the room, she was surprised when her hand was taken by a powerfully built man and he quickly led her through narrow halls, down several levels. All of the doors along the way were shut, and a faint light came from an unknown source. Finally, the man opened a door to a tiny, windowless room, well-lit with candles, and indicated she was to remain there alone. The door closed but although it was not locked, she obediently remained. Gratitude swirled within her.

Miss Beasley's mental opposition was no match to Snape. His eyes locked firmly on hers, he continued prizing open her mind, wearing down her resistance. Her hand grasped his more tightly and he felt perspiration from… fear? Anger? No, he easily recognized the emotion in his past Veritaserum subjects. It was… effrontery.

The Legilimens smiled at the offense taken, and enjoyed the control that he exercised. He half-expected her to tear her eyes away, but she didn't, couldn't; she seemed mesmerized. _Yes,_ Snape thought, _it is bewitching, isn't it? Almost as if you are being absorbed.. Continue looking with me… _

Next, he saw her as a young girl, skipping down a sidewalk. She enjoyed the sensation of near flight, that slight holding in the air before coming down again before the next launch upward. He watched with dissecting disconnection as she stopped to pluck a dandelion, then continued skipping, silky white remnants of the gossamer ball drifting away. With a sudden realization, Snape's inner sight snapped back to the girl, and he realized that she was, indeed, hanging in the air longer than could be expected. She was not pretending to fly; it was real.

Her breathing had slowed, and her hand loosened within his. Snape continued looking in her eyes, which were somewhat glazed. He brushed his free hand over her face; the movement helped to refocus her vision, and she relaxed further.

"Who are the people in the room?" he asked quietly. He ensured now that his was a gentle, soothing clasp to lure her into trust. He sensed that now—and strong attraction, too. Her passive, almost sleepy gaze told him she was very much in the desired state.

"You wouldn't understand."

"I'm sure I would, Miss Beasley," Snape replied with velvet smoothness. "I have a great capacity to understand."

"Friends. I—" Her languid eyes looked deeply into his, her breaths were much deeper, and her speech came slowly. "It's very private."

His thumb lightly caressed her warm palm. "You can tell me anything."

It was obvious to him now that she had become so mesmerized that she would welcome a kiss. He bent closer, softening his eyes, inviting her to confide in him. Her lips parted slightly as she sighed.

Wind rushed through the chimney, blowing crackling embers far onto the hearth, and the woman's body jerked with surprise. Cursing silently, Snape rose, pulled out his wand and swept back the embers. He turned to find an unsettled Nadia half sitting, one leg stretched and bent sideways on the chaise, the other foot on the floor. She looked at him, her vision wavering slightly.

"I think that-that could be called dirty pool, Professor Snape." She licked her lips, subconsciously biting the lower one briefly. Her chest rose and fell quickly.

He suddenly realized that she enjoyed what seemed to her, however briefly, a flirtation on his part. The left corner of his mouth curled further into a sneer. He prided himself on combining techniques that confused his subjects, allowing him easier access into their minds. This insufferable bother of a woman would best recover herself, if she knew what was good for her. Outside of its manipulative uses, he was not fool enough to even pretend to the delusion of romance.

"You know, Professor, it's no wonder Muggles turned on wizards if these are the tactics you regularly employ."

Snape looked down at her with deceptively lazy eyes and answered silkily. "These means wouldn't be necessary if you would reveal the truth. What are you hiding, Miss Beasley?"

"I'm not hiding anything!" She shook her head with frustration at the ludicrous situation she found herself in. "I really am a tourist. I got the wrong train. Why can't you accept that?" Her eyes betrayed a mix of pleading and what he recognized as self-anger for allowing herself to be sucked into his game.

He noted her breathing continued to be heavy, and he stepped uncomfortably close to her chair, forcing her to remain seated. "Then why the lack of cooperation?"

"Do you really think I wasn't cooperating?" she asked incredulously. "If I'm remembering correctly, you saw some things I've never spoken about with anyone."

"There are memories you don't want me to see," he said, striking a nerve.

"As if you don't have some of your own! We all do," she retorted. She looked away, waving toward the opposite chair. "Please, would you mind sitting—or leaving?"

Snape looked at her several moments before sitting, turning the chair slightly so that he could stretch his legs toward the fire. He said nothing, which he knew would unnerve her further. He noticed her examining his distinctive clothing. A hesitant attraction was mixed with her curiosity, but she immediately pushed it aside. Snape sensed an almost trained manner in her self-denial. _What is that? Ah! Abstaining, are we? How very noble of you, Miss Beasley. _

"I'll be frank." She sighed, still refusing to look at him. "I'm scared. I've read about the Express. Apparently, there's a barrier in London that I shouldn't have been able to get through."

He nodded.

"I was tired from the flights and airports, and slept through whatever was happening on the train. I assume the kids were being loud and playing—you know, doing magic?"

"Undoubtedly," Snape replied. "The little dunderheads can't resist, even if there is to be no magic outside of school."

She couldn't help but snort softly in agreement and finally met his eyes. "So I didn't notice I was on an 'odd' train, not just an old one. No one bothered me because I was asleep, and—." Her eyebrows lowered crossly. "Why can't you remove me? Good grief, if that woman can turn herself into a cat, surely someone can get me out of here!"

"These unanswered questions are the reason the Headmaster wished me to… visit with you," Snape said levelly. "It did appear there are areas you don't want me to see."

"Professor, what you're asking about has absolutely nothing to do with me being here. You can completely trust me on that. I swear."

Their eyes locked, hers pleading and sincere, his inscrutable.

"There is another way," he said, and waited.

"What? The rack?" she said, slightly sarcastic.

They stared several moments at each other. Suddenly, her eyes widened and her face fell as she realized what the castle's bowels might hold. Once she began squirming, Snape decided she was sufficiently chastened.

"It is called Veritaserum." His mouth twitched.

She gasped. "That sounds like truth serum!"

He nodded once, slowly, his hair swinging forward to cover his eyes before falling back into place as he straightened. She stared at him in amazement before dropping her eyes and exhaling heavily with defeat. "You know, if that's what it takes, let's do it. Ask away. Just keep the questions pertinent, please."

He bowed his head in assent. "I'll make arrangements for tomorrow night, with the Headmaster."

"And Mrs. McGonagall, if you don't mind. I'd like a woman present," she said firmly.

He gave that twisted smile, and rose.

"Professor—a question," Nadia said. "I had four migraine pills yesterday and took one. Today I can only find two. Did you take one?"

"Yes. I used it to dissect and analyze its contents so that I could develop an appropriate potion to deal with your migraines."

_How dare he!_ "Do you have any idea how much one of those pills costs, and that insurance limits how many I can get in a month?" she demanded.

"No doubt your Muggle pharmaceutical companies are making a goblin's fortune by purveying their ineffectual contrivances," Snape replied, unmoved. "The power of suggestion—in this case, the cost—may well play some role in convincing users that such 'medicines' work. I can create one for you that will _actually_ work."

Nadia gaped, then the words spilled out. "You know, that is one of the most conceited, smuggest things I've ever heard! You're here in the wilds of Scotland showing a bunch of children how to play chemistry, and you propose that you know far more than huge companies that have invested millions of dollars into discovering treatments for people who suffer?"

Snape pulled himself to his full height, looking down at her over his hooked nose, the edge of white collar. The long row of tiny buttons on his frock coat flashed in the firelight, mimicking his angrily flashing eyes. His wand-hand fingers itched to teachher some manners.

"Miss Beasley," he spat, and she sank in her chair, brown eyes widening. "People—magical and non-magical alike—have suffered from migraines for millennia. Modern Muggle medicine has developed only the latest 'solutions.' The uninformed and gullible are susceptible to commercialism suggesting that only the most recent inventions are safe and effective. By contrast, natural remedies that do work have been available as long as man has lived. The wizarding world has merely improved on old knowledge. I am offering you a remedy that does not have the harsh effects that artificial chemicals have on the human body. Consider it a lesson that witchcraft and wizardry"—his lips curled sarcastically around the phrase—"can be used for good—even for the ungrateful."

With a huff, Snape threw himself into the chair opposite the offensive woman and turned his face toward the fire, its blaze matching the blazing irritation within him. How dare a lesser-evolved human question his ability! And to think he had actually considered providing her any type of assistance—volunteered, no less!

"I've tried a number of migraine medicines, and this is the only one that has actually helped. Perhaps yours works for some, but it won't work for everyone," she reasoned.

"Your fear—yes, your _fear"_—he ended her protest before she could speak—"of what is unknown to you is clouding what little logic you might employ. Have your migraines lessened, leveled, or increased since you began using these pills?"

She considered. "Well, actually, _maybe_ a few more. But," she added quickly, "this medicine deals with them rapidly."

"Do you experience side effects with this Muggle medicine?" Snape drilled her.

She flinched at "Muggle." "Yes. I pretty much turn into a zombie for a couple of hours—can't think, walk straight, certainly not work or drive."

"How many years do you suppose this drug has been on the market? And how strict are the guidelines before such a drug may be sold?" Snape demanded.

"I don't know specifically."

"How often," he asked, "do you learn through the Muggle news that some chemically created drug has been taken off the market because of 'recently discovered serious consequences'?"

"Too often," she admitted.

"Yet you persist in taking a drug consisting of man-made chemicals that you admittedly know very little about, which sometimes but not always works for you, which you admit always has incapacitating side effects on you, simply because a Muggle doctor recommends something that has been recently touted as the next big thing?" Snape said, lifting a scornful eyebrow. "All in all, you do not appear to be sufficiently informed about the medicine you are ingesting. That alone should be reason for concern."

"I really don't want to argue with you… "

"Of course not, because you are on very thin ground indeed, Miss Beasley. Do you have any idea why I am called a Potions 'master'?"

"I assume that you've proven yourself adept in your… profession."

"I have, Miss Beasley. Hogwarts has a rigorous program and I proved myself not only adept but innovative. I attempt to pass along some of that knowledge to the wizarding world's children attending the school, although only a few seem to have the wherewithal to achieve the highest marks in my classes."

"Well, bravo for you," Nadia said, immediately regretting the tart remark.

Snape paled in reaction to the nerve the cretinous Muggle displayed. Knowing Dumbledore expected good treatment of the defenseless "guest," he shoved down the urge to hex her or at least blast some bric-a-brac, instead clutching the chair's arms so hard his knuckles turned white.

"I am an _expert _in my field," he hissed, his face twisting in anger as he eyed the woman, who bit her lower lip and protectively drew her heels against the chair. "You are obtuse in the extreme to doubt my ability to offer knowledge and skill that can help someone as unworthy as yourself."

His demeanor reminded her of a small yet dangerous animal trapped in a corner. Anger and then stunned shock registered on her face, but Snape forged ahead, his voice lowered in scorn.

"If you would set aside your ignorant, biased fear," he spat, "I could provide you with a potion that would work with your body's chemistry to eliminate migraines when you have them and, indeed, eventually rid yourself of them altogether. This can only be accomplished, however, with your assent and cooperation. I cannot force anyone to be cured, and I certainly have better things to do than prepare potions for someone unable to muster the grace to accept an undeserved favor."

Annoyed and ashamed, Nadia swallowed and looked away from the black-draped man standing before her so that she could think without feeling as if he was chastising a very foolish and obstinate student. He was right, of course—she'd never approved of so-called natural remedies because she was prejudiced against them, thinking their uses had been developed in backward societies and perpetuated in Western countries by the Birkenstock crowd. But what had modern technology brought, really? Yes, treatments that could eradicate small pox and polio, techniques and equipment to replace a human heart, but also deaths from so-called safe drugs, untested additives used routinely in foods and that the body can't process, and a slew of other problems. From reading, she knew that one of the safest and most effective chemical treatments for breast cancer was derived from foxglove—a common garden flower, of all things—and that modern medicine had embraced it.

Snape stood without moving, and his eyes remained on her while she turned his arguments over in her mind. He knew that she was no longer agitated, but calmly reasoning, so he expected the assent that followed.

Rising, she extended her hand and he accepted it. "Thank you," Nadia said, mimicking the formal little head bow he'd employed. He intuited that there was no mocking intent. "If you would be so kind, I'll try it the next time."

His left eyebrow quirked as he released her hand. "Without hesitation?"

Caught, she gave a lopsided smile. "I didn't say that, professor. But I will try it."

Snape stepped away. "It is late. I shall leave you to… enjoy the rest of your evening," he said.

"Thank you, professor. It's been interesting."

His eyebrow quirked again as he looked at her, taking in the contrite smile. "Good night," she said. "And I'm sorry, professor."

With a nod, he opened the door. "Apology accepted. Good night, Miss Beasley." With that, he closed the door smartly behind him.

oOo

"I have some information, and perhaps a slight development," Snape reported to the Headmaster. "I have twice employed Legilimency on Miss Beasley, and so far it has revealed nothing about her arrival at Hogwarts other than what she has already professed," the Potions master said.

"There are two things that are of interest. First, a childhood memory. When she was very young, she believed she could fly when skipping, and what I saw indicated that she was, indeed, in the air longer than could be considered normal for a Muggle.

"Second, I saw several memories of her visiting a room full of people sitting in a circle. They were men and women, some of them in hoods"—Dumbledore's eyebrows rose in interest—"but I saw no activity indicating what was occurring. In one instance, she was taken alone to a dungeon room."

"Could that have been a dream?" the Headmaster asked.

"It was… dreamlike, but no, this was another state—clear and real. She fought the Legilimency then, and would not speak of it afterward," Snape said.

"What do you make of it, Severus? Do you suspect Voldemort?"

Expressionless to this point, Snape flinched at the name and unconsciously rubbed his left arm. "I did not sense the Dark Lord or Dark magic, and did not recognize anyone present. I cannot, however, rule that out. She only described those in the circle as 'friends,' and that what occurred was private.

"She has agreed, however, to Veritaserum. With your permission, Headmaster, I propose that it be administered it to her. She is prepared for tomorrow night—and would like Professor McGonagall present."

The Headmaster nodded. "Very well. It will be done. And I shall leave the questioning to you, Severus."

The Potions master bowed and headed to his dungeon to prepare the dose.

oOo

_A/N: Many thanks to my beta, Noleme, whose insightful suggestions resulted in considerable improvements to this chapter and the appropriate level of Snape nastiness. ~wink~_


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: All characters belong to JK Rowling. No copyright infringements are intended nor is money being made._

_Many thanks to Noleme for speedy beta work!_

oOo

CHAPTER 6

Nadia made her decision while lying in bed, looking dreamily at the sunbeams streaming through the window. The lovely tower suite was cozy, lovely, the fine china and silver accompanying each meal made her feel like a princess, and the books fascinating, but she wanted to leave.

Dumbledore seemed genuinely concerned about her, but the Legilimency with Snape was too much, and now he wanted to use truth serum! The younger man's implication that she was infiltrating their world was insulting. She hadn't even been aware of magic, let alone Hogwarts, until she'd stumbled onto the train.

Besides, time and money were becoming concerns. Her vacation was into its sixth day; in five more she'd need to catch her flight back home for a couple of days' recovery before returning to work. Undoubtedly, her credit card would be charged for the missed stays at the Inverlochy castle and the Edinburgh bed and breakfast where she'd been expected last night.

Well, the experience itself was worth it, right?

The only reasonable action in this crazy situation was to get up and go. If she couldn't board their magic train, then she'd just walk to the next town. Thank goodness she'd brought hiking boots. Once she reached a main road, perhaps she could catch a ride to the nearest "normal" town or train station.

She inadvertently snorted at the thought of "normal." _They use the term "Muggle,"_ Nadia reminded herself. Rising, she peeked into the sitting room. The coffee table was empty; no breakfast had been delivered yet by the stealthy server.

She showered quickly, dressed in jeans, a sturdy sweater and her boots, and packed carefully. It would be a bit tricky carrying the extra luggage, plus the lute. Nadia converted the woven straps with which her luggage had been secured for transport to hang the bags from her pack. An uncomfortable arrangement, to be sure, but it would work.

When she fully opened the sitting room door, a covered breakfast awaited. She made sure to finish all of the oatmeal and eggs, unsure how long it might be before she'd eat again. Perhaps there was a grocery store in the village below.

After brushing her teeth, she sat at the desk to write a grateful note to Dumbledore, thanking him for his hospitality and noting the name and address of her Edinburgh B&B. If he would please send her the correct mailing address, she would send more money to cover the costs she'd incurred. It would be unwise leave credit card information—did magical people even use credit cards?—so she'd have to use most of the British cash she'd gotten at the airport. Enclosing one hundred pounds in notes with the letter, she strapped on her purse, pulled on her coat over it, hiked on the strung together daypack and luggage, and picked up the lute case. A final, fond glance around the room, and she unbolted the door to begin the circular descent.

Once out of the tower, there was only one stairway to the main floor. The wide, well-polished stone surface seemed in excellent condition. Presumably, Dumbledore's warning about "unpredictable" stairs applied to others in the castle.

Classes were in session, so the halls were empty. Nadia reached for the metal pull on one of the enormous front doors, and was surprised how easily it swung open. The air was chill and gray clouds filled most of the sky, but the sun still shone through encouragingly. Nadia trudged down the long path toward the gates, the bags swinging and striking her hips and thighs with each step. She tried to smooth her gait, but knew that by the time she reached civilization, she'd be thoroughly bruised and very much looking forward to a long, hot bath.

Ahead, a tawny owl winged its way toward the castle, casting a fleet shadow on the damp earth. By the time she reached the iron gates, the bird had passed.

Shifting her load, Nadia reached for the gate. It wouldn't budge; obviously, it was locked. Looking down at her feet, she sighed.

"Oi, there!" a voice boomed.

Nadia turned and nearly fell backwards upon seeing the tallest and widest person she'd even seen. Crowned with unruly hair and an equally wild beard, the dark-eyed man was wearing fur clothing. One immense hand clutched a staff as big as a tree limb while the other wiped at his perspiring forehead with a tablecloth-sized kerchief. He would have made a ferocious football lineman, if they made uniforms that large.

Nadia staggered in surprise, her balance already somewhat precarious from the luggage. A mammoth hand reached out and gently steadied her.

"Didn't mean ta scare ya like that, miss," the burly man blurted. "One of th' Blast-Ended Skrewts got away, and I thought it were headin' ta' this end of th' prop'ty. Ya didn't see it, did ya? About this big and yay high?" His gestures indicated about five by two feet.

He seemed sincerely apologetic for startling her and concerned for whatever creature for which he was searching.

"Um, no. Just an owl overhead," Nadia reported. "Could you give me a hand with the gate?"

"Aye, that I can do." He stepped up to the gate, pulling out a huge, jingling key ring. As he flipped through the dozen of keys, he looked sideways at her. "Don't believe as we've met. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper o' th' Keys and Grounds," he said proudly.

"Nadia Beasley. Just visiting." She wondered idly whether blast-end skrewt was Scottish for skunk.

"Hmm. Odd that Dumbledore didn't mention that t'me," he muttered to himself. She waited patiently as he found the correct steel hunk and fitted it into the lock. It turned only partly, so he jiggled it a bit before twisting his wrist. Unsuccessful, again.

"I know it's th' right un." He removed the key, sucked in some air, and blew hard into the lock. A bit of dust and piece of leaf flew up from the mighty blast. Hagrid inserted and turned the key again with the same result. "Bloody thing," he muttered, then looked down with apologetic alarm. "Sorry fer th' language, miss. But this ain't happened ta me before."

Anxiety slowly crept up on her spirit of determination as the giant man resumed studying and retrying the lock. she tried to will it open: _Please, please_.

"There's a place for you here."

Her instinctive turn stopped before she even got a quarter way, and her breath caught. Mr. Hagrid hadn't spoken. She knew that voice. It came from within.

Anxiety heightened, she thought fervently, _But I want to leave!_

"Patience. There is need."

_What need? Whose?_ she wondered.

The only sound was the fur-clothed man's cursing under his breath. He seemed near to kicking the gate when she pulled herself to the present. Hesitantly raising her free hand, Nadia plucked at his sleeve "Mr. Hagrid? It's alright. I think I'll be staying."

He looked at her quizzically. "Are ya sure? Yer all packed."

Nadia looked wistfully at the trail leading to Hogsmeade, then turned resolutely. "Yes. I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"Not a problem." He tilted his head and stepped toward her. "Here, let me take that luggage. It looks mighty awkward," he offered, hands stretched forward.

"Oh, I've carried heavier loads, and I need the exercise. You need to be looking for that, uh, skrewt." Nadia put on a convincing smile. "But thanks."

"Well, I guess I'll be seein' ya," Hagrid said.

Nadia wasn't so sure she'd get outside again. "It was nice meeting you."

Hagrid took her extended hand and shook it daintily for fear of crushing her. It had happened before, although entirely by accident. "The same, miss."

With a final glance to the outside world, Nadia turned back to the castle as the groundskeeper went in search for the skrewt. She quietly winded her way back to the tower and, once inside the suite, set her bags on the floor and tiredly leaned backwards against the heavy wood door.

oOo

The now familiar rap came just as the mantle clock was beginning its on-the-hour chime. Snape opened the door and strode to Nadia's chair, robe and hair swishing with his silent speed. This time he extracted from within his robe a stoppered bottle, which he placed on the table. She bent forward, looking curiously at the syrupy fluid flecked with blue sparkles.

"Is this the magic elixir?" she asked sincerely.

Eyes narrowing, Snape took a moment to shove aside his disgust. "A migraine remedy. The primary ingredients are oil of rosemary and juice of ground ivy."

"Really?" She held the bottle to the light. "I knew rosemary was safe to ingest, but ivy—hmm."

"There are a great many plants that may be safely used with the proper knowledge, Miss Beasley," Snape replied, his voice tinged with irritation.

Continuing to examine the unusual liquid, she asked, "I've been reading some of the basic textbooks Headmaster Dumbledore dropped off. This was actually made in a cauldron?"

"Yes." He indulged her curiosity with measured patience.

"And when I finally leave here, I'll be—what is it called?—Obliviated?"

Snape paused only a moment. "Yes."

"Ah, too bad," she sighed. "The most interesting experience in my life, and I'm doomed to forget all about it."

Snape offered a cold semblance of a smile before continuing. "Upon the next migraine, take one teaspoon. The dosage is based on the ingredients' concentration and your size. You should find relief within 10 minutes."

"Thank you," she said. His face clearly showed that he knew she still was skeptical. "Bear with me, won't you? It's kind of like—well, going to an Indian restaurant, and not knowing which curry is mild, which is hot, and which is going to blow your head off."

Snape allowed one twitch of his mouth. "I assure you, this will not 'blow your head off,' as you so eloquently put it. Now, to work." Snape stood. "We're due in the Headmaster's office in ten minutes."

oOo

She had to hurry to keep up with his strides. They'd gotten to the fifth floor before he slowed and dropped back to her. "I understand that you tried to escape today," he murmured, looking at her sideways.

"‛Escape'?" Her jaw dropped at his inappropriate word choice.

"Hush!" he admonished, looking about for students. "Lower your voice."

"I was just trying to get back to where I belong," Nadia explained, her cheeks reddened with indignation.

Snape smiled in an unsettling manner. "Anything to avoid Veritaserum, eh?" Before she could respond, he picked up his pace so that she was five steps behind.

When she finally climbed to the seventh floor, Snape stood next to the gargoyle, still as the statue, only his eyes moving to watch her progress. He whispered the password, and the carving suddenly jolted to one side, revealing the stairway. Nadia didn't deign to look at the inscrutable professor as she stepped inside.

"Ah, Miss Beasley." Dumbledore opened his arms in greeting upon their arrival. "Thank you for agreeing to see us. You remember Professor McGonagall?"

Nadia recalled the cat transfiguration, which increased the nervousness that Snape had stirred. "Yes, of course. Good evening."

"Professor Snape informs us that he has encountered some slight complications, and that you have kindly agreed to take Veritaserum," Dumbledore said, smiling benignly as Snape stood imperiously behind her.

She nodded. "He feels I'm not being entirely 'up front,' so it would be faster for all of us and clear up any misunderstandings."

"We appreciate your candor," Dumbledore said, inviting her to sit. As Snape extracted three bottles from his robe, the Headmaster continued. "Severus has indicated that you have some concerns about taking potions. Severus is not only Hogwarts' Potions master, he is also one of the finest potions-makers in the wizarding world." Snape acknowledged the compliment with a bow. "He is one of the few qualified to brew Veritaserum. It can be used only by following strict guidelines established by the Ministry of Magic to guard against misuse.

"I assure you, Miss Beasley, that we will avoid asking questions of a personal nature that we do not believe have any application to how or why you have accessed the wizarding world. Do you have any questions, my dear?"

Nadia shook her head

Snape stood by her side, a plum-sized glass vial in one hand, a spoon in the other. "This, Miss Beasley"—he held up what appeared to be water—"contains Veritaserum. It is colorless, odorless and very powerful. From conducting Legilimency and observing your reaction to the migraine, I have determined that this particular potion's strength is calibrated to work with a person of your height and weight.

This"—he indicated one of two bottles sitting on Dumbledore's desk—"is the antidote. Once we have finished, I will give you the proper dose, and you will come out of the questioning state. You will not remember what you were asked nor what you answered.

"The other bottle you will recognize from what I presented you tonight. It is the migraine potion. If you should very unexpectedly have a reaction from the Veritaserum, I will be prepared to treat the migraine immediately." Snape stood still, looking down his nose, stringy black hair framing his chalky pallor. "Do you understand what I have told you?"

"Yes," Nadia said, bracing herself.

"Very well." Snape poured several drops of Veritaserum into the spoon, then administered it. Almost immediately upon swallowing, her body relaxed and her head slunk. Dumbledore and McGonagall kept watch as Snape folded his arms and began questioning.

"Who are you?"

"Nadia Diana Beasley."

"Are you under the influence or control of any magic beside Veritaserum?"

"No."

"Where do you live?"

"Forest Grove, Oregon. The United States."

"Where and when were you born?"

"Portland, Oregon. Dec. 23, 1958."

"Who are your parents?"

"Darrel Eugene Beasley and Elaine Darlene McPherson. My mother is dead."

"How did she die?"

"Mom died from cancer."

"And where is your father?"

"He remarried a few years ago. They live in Florida."

"Where were you educated, and in what subjects?"

"George Fox College in Forest Grove. I have a double bachelor's degree in music and history."

"What is your profession?"

"I'm a secretary for an office suite. Uh, a professed Christian." McGonagall smiled at the young woman's scrupulosity in interpreting the question.

"Married?"

"No."

"Children? Siblings?"

"No children; I've never married. My sister Dee has three and lives in Texas."

"Are you close to your family?"

"Dad's in real estate and has a new family now. We just write once in a while, don't really call. Same with Dee. She's busy with her family and does a lot of volunteer work."

The preliminaries aside, Snape's intensity grew. "_Why_ are you_ here_?"

"A vacation in Scotland, the Yorkshires. It's gone wrong."

"What is your business here?"

"Traveling, seeing museums and hiking. Picking up a pre-paid musical instrument."

"Who do you work for?"

"Barnes, Aaronson, Jasper and Taylor. I'm their administrative support."

"What are your intentions at Hogwarts?"

"To go home. I didn't mean to come here."

"Do you plan to harm anyone at Hogwarts or in the Wizarding world?"

"No, I wouldn't do that."

"How did you come to Hogwarts?"

"From London by the Express, and I walked to the castle from the train."

"Were you accompanying any children, or sent to the train by any person?"

"No. My travel agent told me to expect the train of an older style."

"Had you ever before heard of Hogwarts?"

"No. I wouldn't have believed it."

"Since arriving at Hogwarts, what have been your actions?"

"I've been kept in my room. Sleeping, eating, reading, exercising, playing my lute. I tried to leave today but the gate wouldn't open. And undergoing Legilimency."

The Potions master stifled a snort. "Do you know what a Death Eater is?"

"I read about them here in a book. Their leader instigated a war to take over Britain's wizarding community. Evil people who believe in racial superiority and domination. Wizard Nazis."

"Are you a Death Eater or in any way associated with the Dark Lord?"

"No! That's awful!"

"Do you know any Death Eaters?

"No!"

"Are you a witch?"

"On Halloween, once. Mom spray-painted a broom black to go with the costume, and my candy bag was a plastic cauldron. It was fun." Snape rolled his eyes, while Dumbledore chuckled lightly at her dreamy expression.

"Do you know any _real _witches or wizards besides those present now?"

"No. Maybe that Hagrid man is. I don't know."

Snape considered his next line of questioning. "Do you know anyone who might have used magic or displayed unusual abilities?"

"My mother 'knew' things. She told my sister and me that a neighbor's child would die in a swimming accident, and a few days later, it happened. She used to know when her relatives were ill, or someone was coming to visit unannounced. We asked her how she knew, and she said she didn't know, she just did."

"Anyone else?"

"Her mother 'saw' and 'heard' things. So did her aunts. When I was very young and at family gatherings, they would tell stories about what had happened to them and other relatives. People used to go to one of my great-great-grandmothers to ask for advice, like she was some kind of gypsy."

"What of your father's side?"

"I only knew my grandparents, and they died before I was in school. Dad had a brother, but he was killed in Vietnam."

"Were any of them witches or wizards?"

"No, of course not."

"You have a sister. Does she 'know' things?"

"No. She thinks that's all silly."

"When you were a child, you liked to skip. Did you fly?"

"My sister said no one can, but I still recall feeling like I could when skipping."

"Do_ you_ have magical or unusual abilities?"

"I see things. I hear things. It's not magic."

"Who speaks to you?"

"God and saints."

He rolled his eyes. Dumbledore cleared his throat meaningfully, prompting Snape to continue. "What do you see and hear?"

"Instructions, encouragement. Sometimes warnings."

"How have you been warned?"

"Things some people would attribute to instinct or women's intuition, but it was more than that. I _knew_. I used to go out with friends some weekends. We always shared a car and drove home the same route. One night I felt very strongly that we shouldn't go home the same way and insisted we reverse the order. The driver and I were the last in the car when we rounded a bend and there was a terrible accident there. I'm sure it would have been us if we'd gone the usual way."

Snape's peripheral vision caught Minerva's doubtful expression. "Sometimes you have knocked at a door and joined a roomful of people," he continued. "Who are they, and where is that place?"

"Friends at a church."

"What kind of friends?"

"People who help me."

"Are any of those people Death Eater, witches, wizards, other folk or creatures or otherwise have magical abilities, or are associated with any?"

"No! They are good people. They don't want harm to come to anyone."

His eyes narrowed and he nearly hissed. "Why do some wear hoods?"

"It's the dress of those particular people's time and culture."

Snape turned to the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall with a raised eyebrow. Dumbledore nodded and asked, "What purpose do you think there is for you to be at Hogwarts?"

"I think to offer help. But I don't know what or how."

"Have you asked in your prayers?"

"Yes. After that barrier prevented me from leaving, I ask every day. All I'm told is that I will learn later, to be patient."

Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged glances. "Could that purpose in any way be harmful to Hogwarts or any of the students or staff here?" Snape inquired sternly.

"I first pray for protection so that negative influences don't affect my prayers. And I wouldn't purposely do anything to cause harm."

"You could do something harmful unknowingly," Snape pointed out.

"If I was uncertain about something, I would first ask Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall or you."

"Do you trust us?" Snape asked.

"I've been told that I must. So I do—but it's hard."

McGonagall winced sympathetically. A nod from Dumbledore informed Severus to end the session. Tipping up Nadia's head by the chin, Snape administered the antiserum, then monitored her. In a few minutes, she was alert.

"When do we start?" she asked.

"We're already finished, my dear. You did splendidly," Dumbledore assured her. He motioned to McGonagall, who picked up a glass and bottle of Firewhisky. "At times like this, I find a touch of drink can help settle the nerves," she suggested.

"Thank you, but no. I don't really care for hard liquor."

Snape snorted lightly. "I seem to recall you having Firewhisky the other night."

Her lips formed a tight line before she responded. "Under the circumstances, yes!"

"I'd recommend it again—under the circumstances." With McGonagall's smiled encouragement, Nadia nodded assent, and the witch poured a finger's worth.

Beasley sipped and Dumbledore looked to his top staff, who nodded. He leaned on the desk, folding his fingers together.

"My dear, you've answered all of our questions, and we are satisfied. We are convinced that you are who you say you are. We do believe that you had no knowledge of the wizarding world until arriving at Hogwarts. The how and why of your arrival is still something that we are investigating, but we believe your presence here is none of your doing."

Dumbledore leaned forward. "We also understand your desire to return home, and your confusion as to why that has not yet been possible. That is something we continue to examine. It is not by our action that you are unable to leave, and you have our word that we will return you to your rightful place as soon as possible."

The woman looked relieved upon hearing that promise.

"Based on our combined years of experience and knowledge of the wizarding world, however, it is our opinion that there is a reason you are here. There are powerful, ancient spells protecting Hogwarts from being entered by Muggles," the Headmaster continued. "We realize that you do not consciously know that reason, nor perhaps even unconsciously. I believe that in time, your purpose here will be revealed, and until then we all must be patient. Meanwhile, I will do everything in my power to make your stay here comfortable and to ensure that your home and job are secured."

_How?_ Nadia thought. _But, then again, these are wizards—they can do practically anything._

"I do believe," he smiled, "that you have another question. Please feel free to ask."

Embarrassment crossed her face before she spoke. "It's something about 'based on your combined years of experience' and one of the magic books you brought me. Would you mind telling me how old you are?"

Chuckling, Dumbledore extended and flipped over his hand, motioning that first Severus, then Minerva should answer.

Eyes blazing indignantly, Snape stared at his employer a moment before answering. "Thirty-three," he said flatly, looking straight at the wall behind the Headmaster.

"Sixty-six." Dumbledore lifted a brow at Minerva's answer. "I'm not 67 until next week, Albus," she said defensively.

"One hundred and forty-six," the Headmaster said brightly.

Nadia stifled a gasp. "I had a great-grandmother who lived to two months short of her one hundred and first birthday, and you look much younger than she did!" she exclaimed in awe.

"Have many people in your family lived to an old age?" McGonagall asked innocently.

"On my mother's side. She died relatively young—57—but most of the generations lived to be quite old, the women especially."

Minerva exchanged a meaningful look with Dumbledore, who inquired, "How are you feeling now?"

"A little tired, thank you. No side effects." She turned to Snape and took on a formal manner. "I appreciate that you were careful."

He merely nodded, managing to make it condescending.

"We should let you get your rest, my dear," Dumbledore said, standing. "Severus will see you back."

He didn't stir. "Why not send her back with a house elf?" he asked casually.

Any calmness Nadia had felt melted immediately. "A _what_?" Her voice was edged with hysteria.

"How else would your meals be delivered and your rooms cleaned?" Severus fired back over the soothing and chiding remarks Dumbledore and Minerva tried to make. "All taken care of while you sleep and bathe," he added spitefully.

"Enough, Severus!" the Headmaster admonished. Snape examined his nails, ignoring Dumbledore's glare. Then the old man turned to the Muggle. "It is true that the castle's, erm, primary support staff are elves. It is also true"—he shot another warning glance at the unrepentant Snape—"that they are gentle, harmless creatures that do everything they can to help us. Please be assured that you have absolutely nothing to fear from our house elves."

"Hogwarts elves strive to make all of us—guests included—as comfortable as possible with minimal intrusion," Minerva added kindly, sending her own remonstrative glance at her young colleague.

"None of the books mentioned this," a stunned Nadia mumbled, staring at the front of the Headmaster's desk.

Dumbledore nodded toward Snape, then returned his attention to the young woman. "Now, Professor Snape will escort you to your rooms. And he will exhibit the utmost gentlemanly manner."

Snape rose and stood silently next to Beasley as she got up.

In shock about elves and their presence in her rooms, Nadia automatically followed Snape across the room. She did not even hear Minerva call, "Good night, dear, rest well." Dumbledore and his deputy exchanged knowing looks as they went through the door, which Snape closed with a smart snap.

oOo


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

After seeing Miss Beasley safely inside and warding the guest quarters, Snape returned to the Headmaster's tower. Instead of the customary late-night sherry, the three conferred.

Dumbledore chose not to dwell on Snape's earlier ill behavior, immediately delving into the important subject at hand. "I do believe you hit on some good points, Severus, and you, Minerva, concerning her family," he said. "It is interesting that there may have been seers in her family, and she also may be one, although she does not use that term."

"I suspect she would sooner be burned at the stake than think she might be a witch," Snape observed snidely. Leaning against the fireplace mantle, he stubbornly pulled his robe forward and firmly folded his arms across his chest.

Having visited hundreds of Muggle families as head of Gryffindor House, Minerva was familiar with the distasteful reaction. "This is all very unusual and confusing for her. She must be frightened."

Dumbledore's voice muffled Snape's derisive snort. "I have been researching this situation during the last few days, including research and careful consultation with key contacts in the Department of Mysteries. I will continue to explore methods to return her." He dropped a candy into his mouth after both of his colleagues refused the proffered bowl. "I can find no solid answer nor history as to why she was unable to board the Express, the castle gate refused to allow her to exit, and that an exceptionally skilled wizard such as yourself, Severus, could not Apparate with her. The common element in all cases appears to be her desire to leave.

The headmaster stepped his fingers and eyed his attentive colleagues.

"I can only conclude that there is something for her or for us—perhaps both—to learn by her being at Hogwarts. This is not magic I've seen before, but there are old stories indicating that sometimes those whose pasts have been forgotten are drawn to their rightful place. I am not saying this is so"—he said in response to Snape's scowl—"but that it is a reasonable possibility we should entertain."

Dumbledore rose and moved to look out the window toward the Quidditch arena. "I do believe this is an opportunity—one that should be afforded a chance, but with caution." Dumbledore turned. "I am therefore of the opinion that if by the time she is due back home that is still an impossibility, she be allowed in the school, under your direct supervision." His nods indicated both McGonagall and Snape.

"Keep her locked in the tower, as if she were a prisoner?" Minerva asked, her face tight with indignation.

"Nothing of the sort," Dumbledore smiled. "She should be allowed to make herself useful."

"Surely you're not seriously considering allowing her to… _work_ here!" the Potions master demanded with incredulous anger. "Unskilled, unknowledgeable, under suspicion!"

"Now, now, Severus," Dumbledore said, settling back into the comfort of his upholstered chair as Minerva looked at Snape disapprovingly. "I'm not proposing making her deputy headmistress. But we can't keep her locked up in the tower indefinitely."

"I don't see why not," Snape huffed, throwing himself gracelessly into his usual chair.

"We simply must find a reasonable solution, for as long as necessary," the Headmaster said calmly.

"Pshaw!"

"None of us are happy about this situation, Severus," Minerva pointed out. "We can, however, make the best of it."

"Without first determining _why_ she is here? _Who_ might be involved?" Snape growled.

"It _is_ a puzzle how she could have gotten here," Minerva admitted, "and I'm no less concerned about all of this than you are, Severus. But she strikes me as—well, sincere." She sighed heavily, her shoulders heaving.

Severus shook his head. "Her presence here could be a danger," he snapped insistently, turning his head from the witch.

"You yourself have looked into her mind, and haven't discovered anything nefarious." Dumbledore looked thoughtfully at Snape. "However, further investigation is unquestionably merited." The old man played with a spoke-wheeled brass instrument, which chugged steadily, expelling an occasional, soft whistle.

"How would you secure her work and home?" Minerva asked curiously.

Dumbledore chuckled as if enjoying a private joke. "A Muggle-born friend of mine has found retirement to be less than expected," he answered. "She wants to travel, to do something challenging. So with a collection of hair from Miss Beasley's brush and some Polyjuice—"

"Ah," Minerva nodded. Severus glared at the fireplace, so unspeakably angry that he refused to look at the Headmaster.

"She'll even be able to send a few things by owl, if necessary," Dumbledore finished. "Most importantly, she'll conduct a thorough background check and report back to me."

Snape's sour expression left no doubt what he thought of the plan, but he knew he was outvoted by the two administrators. Pushing his legs out before him, he folded his arms and demanded, "When do you propose inflicting this incompetent Muggle upon us?"

"Tomorrow at dinner," Dumbledore announced. "That should give you and Minerva time to think of some tasks for her to perform.

"Now for a smaller challenge—she needs a new name and background." Dumbledore hummed while considering possibilities. "Miss Beasley—‛Bee' as in honey?" Snape exhaled heavily while examining his nails. "B… Ah!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "The beech tree. Her background indicates good organizational skills, and she's quite reasonable in her expectations—‛Beecham' it is!"

Minerva glowed approval, while Snape merely looked at the Headmaster indifferently, ready to return to the dungeons to check on his Slytherins. "Headmaster," he said, leaning forward as if to rise. "May I—?"

"No, no, Severus, we're not done yet. She must have an established background. Now, what do you say to her being from an old wizard family?" Dumbledore suggested enthusiastically.

"Really, Headmaster, she couldn't possibly—!" Snape spluttered, his cheeks reddening.

"But," Dumbledore continued blithely, "over the centuries her branch has succumbed to America's democratic society and have forgotten their wizard heritage…. They've lived primarily as Muggles, using magic from time to time, of course," he added as if that was obvious.

Professor McGonagall nodded thoughtfully agreement while Snape sneered.

"There's no reason to present her as a witch," the younger man objected. "If you insist on palming her off as from our world, say that she is a Squib."

Dumbledore shook his head. "It's unlikely an American Squib would seek employment at Hogwarts. She will be more believable as a genuine witch."

"I hardly believe that the woman is capable of convincing anyone of that," the Potions master said archly. "Genuine?" He paused, suspicions aroused. "Do you mean to imply… _pureblood_?"

Dumbledore clapped with delight. "An excellent suggestion, Severus!" he exclaimed, rising and walking to his desk to shuffle through papers. "I have information here somewhere about old American families who have largely forgotten our ways… "

Snape buried his head in his hands before looking up imploringly at Minerva.

"I'm sorry, Severus," she shrugged, "but it's as good a story as any. Some families do fall away, you know."

"Pureblood!" Snape snorted in disbelief. "As if she's a Slytherin!"

Dumbledore snapped upright, clutching a paper. "What an exciting prospect! If we knew she actually _did_ have magical talent, we could try the Sorting Hat on her!"

Snape stared as if the old man was an escapee from St. Mungo's long-term spell damage ward.

"Ah, but time will tell, won't it?" Dumbledore mused, looking down at the document. The quill he held before him hid from Snape a mildly mischievous smile.

The Potions master shoved himself up from his chair, staring daggers at the Headmaster. "I have work to attend to," he stated coldly. "I'm sure you and deputy headmistress can work out the rest of this travesty."

Dumbledore looked up with hurt surprise. "Of course, Severus. I quite understand. Good night."

Minerva observed Albus' artful concern as Snape marched across the room like a baleful cloud rushing through a stormy sky. Once the door closed, he turned to her, his face relaxed.

"That wasn't very nice of you, Albus," she chastised gently.

"I was attempting to interject a bit of humor into the situation," he replied genially. "Obviously, I failed. Dear me, but the boy is so utterly serious at all times."

Minerva grunted, then rose and walked to the case where Dumbledore kept the Ogden's. Extracting the bottle, she poured two fingers' depth into each of two glasses, turned and handed one to Albus before reclaiming her chair.

She took a sip and turned slightly in the seat to tuck a pillow at her back."After Potter's experience with Quirrell last year, I cannot blame him. Potter's claim to have seen the Dark Lord was unsettling, and must weigh heavily on Severus' mind."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "As it does mine."

Minerva returned to the original topic. "Do you think she might be a Squib?"

The wizard laid his gray head against his chair's high back, watching Fawkes from atop his half-moon glasses. "No, nor do I believe she is a Muggle. Severus checked her belongings thoroughly for anything that may have been Concealed or Transfigured, and there is nothing magical. So she did not bring a wand. Why would a witch travel without one?" He tilted the cut glass, looking pensively into the amber fluid as if it would provide answers. "I believe she is a witch, and she has been brought to Hogwarts. The questions are: Why? Does she know? Is she being used and, if so, by whom?"

His long-time deputy and fellow senior Order member was accustomed to the inscrutable ways in which his mind worked. She considered his answer for a minute before speaking. "You will not try to send her away, then."

"I fully intend to continue researching that matter," he assured her firmly. "But it is difficult to closely examine a mystery at a distance."

"You'll clarify this with Severus?" she asked pointedly.

"Of course." Dumbledore lowered his head to smile lopsidedly at her. "But his irritation will keep him going tonight through his rounds and correcting papers."

"You know, Albus," Minerva chided, "you'll drive Severus to having an ulcer one day."

Dumbledore, who was sipping his Ogden's, grimaced. "He's been driving himself to one since he began Hogwarts as a student."

The Scots witch smiled wanly, remembering the guarded, tetchy boy he had been and the wrathful attacks he'd made on some of his fellow students, James Potter and Sirius Black in particular. If anything, such character elements had grown stronger in Severus' adulthood. Pity the student foolish enough to cross his path tonight.

She swirled the amber Firewhisky in the tumbler, then took a sip. "What say you that Miss Beas—Miss Beecham, rather—work in my office and classroom immediately after breakfast, then be assigned to Severus after lunch? Circe knows there's enough mindless and utterly useless Ministry paperwork that all of us could bear assistance. For all of his grumbling, I'll wager Severus will eventually come to appreciate it."

Dumbledore snorted softly, trying to picture a thankful Snape. Somehow, even his brilliant mind couldn't conjure such a scene.

"I agree—with the schedule, that is," Dumbledore clarified. 'You'll want her close by for supervisory purposes."

"There is, of course, the problem with the laws against performing magic in a Muggle's presence." Minerva broached the topic with some distaste, both for the necessity of having demonstrated Transfiguration before Miss Beecham and the hands-tying complications laws sometimes posed.

Dumbledore considered the point, but briefly. "I refuse to imprison her, and allowing her into Hogwarts means she will see magic regularly. She might as well be allowed to observe the students learning. Understanding helps to combat prejudice."

McGonagall nodded, finished her drink, and sent the empty glass floating toward a tray for a house-elf to retrieve later for cleaning. "Well, then, Albus. I need to decide exactly what I'll have Miss Beecham begin doing tomorrow, and I'm sure you have a bit of planning to do yourself."

"Of course, Minerva." He rose slightly from his chair as she stood. "Good night."

Murmuring her adieu in reply, McGonagall turned toward the door. The sound of her green tartan shoes clicking smartly across the stones ended once the door closed behind her, leaving Dumbledore alone with the portraits. Most of the figures were asleep. A few frames were empty.

Dumbledore chose to ignore the accusative black eyes of Phineas Nigellus Black, who didn't bother to voice his objections to the present Headmaster's outrageous idea. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Black knew, was willful and listened to advice only when he sought it. Exhaling heavily, Black turned around and left for the frame in his ancestral home.

At Dumbledore's motion, a fresh piece of parchment left its stack and settled before him on the desk's surface. Long fingers to his lips, he thought for several minutes before dipping the quill and beginning to write. This, like his other plans, had to be carefully composed, for the safety of Miss Beecham, Hogwarts and, possibly, Harry Potter.

oOo

A/N: Thanks to my beta, Noleme, for wise and skillful guidance. You're a gem!

I'd love to hear from you, readers! Please review. ~wheedles~


	8. Chapter 8

**PRINCIPLES AND HONOR**

By NewMewn

Warnings: AU, EWE.

Disclaimer:This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers, etc., etc. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I'm just takin' the characters for a little ride.

oOo

Chapter 8

Nadia's mind raced following the meeting in the Headmaster's office. Veritaserum had compelled her to reveal things that she preferred to keep private. Still, the experience was far more pleasant than Snape's poking about in her head, and at least Dumbledore and McGonagall seemed easier about her presence, making her feel, well, less _un_welcome.

Her wide eyes darted about the room. _Elves, he said! In the suite at night!_ _Why wasn't there a word about them in the _Hogwarts _history book? _She shuddered.

Still, she couldn't help but look around and under furniture, behind the drapes. Nothing was there, but someone had been. The dinner dishes were gone, as was the tea mug stain on the side table. Nadia dashed into the bathroom, discovering freshly laid towels and a clean glass.

The old wizard and witch hadn't seemed concerned, only somewhat sympathetic. _So surely there's no danger from these elf things, _she told herself.

Returning to the main room, she sat, her mind still on elves. Dumbledore had described them as wanting to serve. Perhaps they were like folk tales' brownies, helpful little creatures that came in the night. Should she be leaving a glass of milk for them?

Gradually, Nadia became calm. Deep, rhythmic breathing and inward focus allowed her to slip into a prayerful state and a sense of peace washed over her.

oOo

At mid-morning, a weary, rheumatic Filch called on her with Dumbledore's request that she go to his office. The halls were empty and she heard a snatch of lecture echoing from a far classroom as she walked behind the lumbering caretaker. The overly thin Mrs. Norris scampered ahead, keeping close to the walls.

The Headmaster rose with a delighted greeting as she entered and motioned her to the fireside seating area, where a tea set awaited them. With graceful wand movements, he poured tea in two of the four cups and floated one to her.

"I am aware that you are due to return home in a few days and that your current inability to return is of much concern." His blue eyes emitted sympathy. "I'm afraid that you should expect to be here beyond your holiday period. You are, of course, most welcome to stay at Hogwarts as long as need be."

She bit her lower lip, gripping the as yet unused teacup's handle. "But if I can't get back home, I won't have a job or anywhere to live." Dumbledore began to speak, but she continued, looking anxiously around the room. "I mean, how could I explain why I've missed my plane and subsequent possible flights? What plausible excuse could I have? 'Oh, I was hanging out in a witchcraft school. You know, learning how to do magic.'"

She nervously placed her cup and saucer on the table and began wringing her hands as a myriad of worries overcame her. Dumbledore reached over to pat her hands, leaving one atop hers.

"My dear, I realize you are perhaps a bit frightened. I wish only the best outcome for all of us. There_ is_ a way to safeguard your home and job." She looked up in mute surprise, and he smiled encouragingly. "A dear friend of mine is very experienced in the Muggle world. In fact, she was married to an American Muggle and lived many years there until he died. She has agreed to impersonate you for a time."

"I-I don't understand."

"A potion called Polyjuice allows one to take on the form of another."

That revelation seemed not to register with Miss Beasley. Instead, her mind focused on more practical issues.

"But she won't know what to do."

"Devawn Chittleham is the witch who can take your place. She and her husband owned a business for 40 years. She acted as receptionist, secretary and bookkeeper. She even owns a computer and—what do you call it?—an automobile." He continued as Nadia goggled. "She is imminently qualified to 'fit in.' Devawn is Muggle-born, and since leaving Hogwarts has lived largely as a Muggle, though she's kept her wand in Charms and Potions. She has time on her hands and is quite willing to stand in for you."

A great weight seemed to lift from the young woman. Her hands relaxed at last, and Dumbledore sat back, taking a sip of his cooling tea.

Somewhat recovered, Nadia decided she should address the corresponding issue on her mind. "This has to be terribly inconvenient for you and the school. So long as I'm in your hair, I'm perfectly willing to earn my keep. I can cook, clean, wash clothes, do yard work—"

"All what the house-elves do." Dumbledore smiled gently.

"I could at least keep up wherever I'm to stay. If you could just tell me where to find a vacuum . . . "

The old man pitied her helpless expression. "My dear, the key thing with house-elves is that their very happiness depends on serving us. If I were to tell the elf assigned to your rooms that you will be doing the cleaning yourself, she would be extremely upset and, indeed, punish herself for an apparent job poorly done. You wouldn't want that, would you?" 

"Punish herself?" Nadia was genuinely horrified. "No! Of course not."

She had adjusted only slightly to the idea of house-elves, and this new bit of information was startling. Merely cleaning up after herself could cause of the creatures to harm itself?

Just then a sharp rap sounded from the door, and McGonagall and Snape entered. Dumbledore nodded to them but continued the conversation as the two teachers joined them, Minerva taking a chair and Snape standing in the shadow next to the fireplace.

"I will continue searching for means to return you home, of course," the Headmaster promised. "Meanwhile, we mustn't keep you closeted. How would you like to work in a school for witches and wizards?" He dangled the prospect like a sugar cookie before a child.

"Really?" Nadia's eyes sparkled. _This could be quite an adventure!_ But survival instinct kicked in. _Children _learning _magic._ _That might not be a good combination . . . _

"Is it, uh, safe?" Dumbledore's eyebrows shot upward, and she scrambled to clarify. "I mean, if the students are just learning magic, things go wrong, right? Could it be dangerous to be around that?"

"Precautions are taken to protect them—and others—from wayward magic. That's why we have such rules as no magic in the corridors," Minerva said firmly. Dumbledore nodded in confirmation.

"Rules are broken, of course," Snape put in smoothly. "It is not uncommon for innocent bystanders to wind up in the hospital wing."

"Such incidents are exceedingly rare and the perpetrators are punished," Dumbledore said sharply, leveling a cool stare at the Head of Slytherin. Softening his demeanor, he turned to Nadia. "The possibility of such errors is among the reasons I wish for you to work closely with staff, so that you cannot be in the position of being accidentally harmed."

His reasoned explanation assured her. Dumbledore's and McGonagall's censuring expressions led her to believe that Snape had a penchant for causing discomfort.

Realizing this had become somewhat of a job interview, she composed herself.

"I've spent years writing reports, researching, filing, and filling in all kinds of forms, from internal to those for the government," she offered eagerly. "Quite frankly, I haven't always understood some when starting, but I've always been quick to figure it out, and have gotten outstanding appraisals for my work."

Snape grunted disdainfully, earning a reproachful glance from Dumbledore who then returned his attention to the guest.

"I did earn a college degree, professor," Nadia said to Snape. "I may not know much about your world, but I'm no simpleton."

She focused back Hogwarts' top administrators. Snape merely smirked in response to her defensive statement.

"Since there's a wizard government, I imagine you have a great deal of tedious paperwork that even a novice could complete, freeing you to focus more on lessons. I excel at research and could lend a lot of help in that area." Nadia paused for breath during the quick-paced sell. "I read the Muggle Studies textbook, and it's—well, the author apparently doesn't know much about us. I could certainly provide better information. I can do filing, run errands—anything you need." She leaned forward eagerly, searching their faces.

Dumbledore shifted his position, placing his elbows on the chair arms and thoughtfully steepled his fingers. McGonagall cocked her head to one side and seemed almost embarrassed for the woman, who clearly wanted to help rather than to hinder. Arms folded across his chest, Snape was the picture of contempt, suspicious of the uneducated trespasser seeking to become involved at Hogwarts. Nadia flinched slightly under his gaze and wondered how much say he had in the matter.

"Thank you, Miss Beasley," the Headmaster said, his eyes crinkling and his voice warm. "You obviously have a great many skills, and we appreciate"—at "we," Snape snorted softly, which Dumbledore chose to ignore—"your ideas and gracious offer. You understand that we cannot reveal your true identity to the students and most of the staff? A Muggle's presence here would be inexplicable." He omitted _unacceptable_, McGonagall thought, and _unwanted_, Snape thought.

"Of course, of course." Nadia nodded tentatively.

"Good." Dumbledore turned slightly toward his desk, snapped his fingers and red ribbon-bound parchment sailed to her. "I've taken the liberty of devising a background for you. Please be sure to study it today. At dinner time, you shall join us in the Great Hall for dinner—your debut. And tomorrow you will begin working with Professors McGonagall and Snape. Your schedule is included."

Loosely clutching the scroll, she returned his smile.

"But first," Dumbledore continued, "I want to assure you that your job and home are not jeopardized. After dinner, we shall meet with Mrs. Chittleham so that she may familiarize herself with you and your work. Is that agreeable?"

"I think so," she said, still dazed.

Dumbledore rose and extended his hand. She quickly stood and pressed the gnarled hand, surprised at its strength, and nodded pleasantly to him. Minerva, who had helped herself to tea, smiled from over her cup. Despite the shadow over his face, she could see Snape's eyes glittering at her. "Mr. Filch will walk you to your rooms. If you have need of anything, please feel free to pull the bell pull in the bedroom. I'll see you at dinner."

"Thank you. You're very kind," Nadia replied, shaking his hand, then nodding to McGonagall and the half-hidden Snape.

Motioning the young woman toward the door, Dumbledore glanced backwards and lifted his brows to his employees, and then followed her and entered the circular staircase hallway behind her. Closing the door softly, he looked down at her upturned face, which evinced wonder, fear, and tentative excitement.

"I understand how disconcerting this must be for you," he said kindly. "I promise that we will take good care of you."

Relief flooding her face, she unexpectedly flung her arms about the wizened man in a fierce hug. Chuckling, Dumbledore sent her down the stairs.

"By the way, Miss B," he called. "We 'dress' for dinner!"

oOo

"She is going to be nothing but a ridiculous distraction in the classroom, and undoubtedly she'll require more 'help' in learning the paperwork than it would take for me to do it myself," Snape said petulantly after the Headmaster returned. "I cannot imagine all of the students believing that she's . . . magical." He pulled a face as if couldn't bring himself to use the word _witch_—which, indeed, he could not. "We will soon be peppered with questions from parents and the Ministry."

McGonagall listened with pressed lips to her young colleague's harangue, while Dumbledore took it in stride.

"Oh, I don't think it will be all as bad as that, Severus. I have already owled an explanation to the Board of Governors. That is here, with her schedule." The Headmaster handed two parchments to each of them. "The students are far too busy to be concerned about a new staff member who will largely be in the background. You may even find her contributions relieve you of some of your burden."

Minerva jumped in. "It will give you more time to plot Slytherin's next Quidditch and House Cup victories." Her mouth twisted in challenge to Snape.

Severus's eyes narrowed as he glanced peripherally at his former teacher, weighing whether she jested or was serious. His eyes shifted to Dumbledore. "How long, Headmaster, do you think we will play this charade before we are free of the intruder?"

"I've no idea. But I suggest that we take advantage of her services—and treat her as a valued colleague and honored guest in the meantime," he answered pointedly.

The muscles in Snape's jaw tensed. _I must return for the next class—and, apparently, there will be plenty of time to continue this discussion later, _he thought sourly. He nodded curtly to the Headmaster and rose. "I shall leave you both now. Time to return to Potions—and see if I can catch any wayward Gryffindors." Glancing sideways at the Minerva and with a ghost of a sneer playing on his lips, he whirled and swept from the room.

oOo

With scant minutes before his next class began, Snape strode into his office, tossed the parchments onto his desk, and planted both of his hands against the mantlepiece, his head falling forward.

_Damn that old man!_ Allowing the Muggle to roam Hogwarts, albeit under his and Minerva's scrutiny, was folly. It would raise too many questions, especially among the Board of Governors, which included the likes of Lucius Malfoy. Unless Dumbledore was able to deflect attention away from the woman, suspicions would be aroused and spread to Malfoy's friends and vassals. Snape could only hope they would be distracted by rumors of the Dark Lord regaining some of his powers.

It was one more pressure he personally could do without. _Just like Albus to add to the load,_ he thought bitterly.

Vigorously shaking back his stringy hair, Snape pushed himself away from the rough rock and turned. His hands smoothed his practical yet elegantly cut black robes while his sharp eyes zeroed in on Dumbledore's letter. _It had better be a good story. _He squared his shoulders, narrowed his eyes and exited the office, rapidly and silently bound for the Potions classroom.

He flung open the door. The Third Years twitched and jumped, and those still standing scrambled for their chairs.

"Settle down," he warned. Closing the door, he strode forward and with a wand cast revealed the day's lesson on the blackboard. "Turn to page forty-four . . . "

oOo

A/N: Sorry to have taken so long with this chapter. Other obligations demanded much time. I shall endeavor to do better. * Many thanks to the marvelous Noleme for cleaning up the cobwebs and pointing out a couple of housekeeping omissions in this chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

Overall story summary: At the start of Potter's second year at Hogwarts, additional duties fall on Severus Snape's shoulders with the arrival of an unexpected—and unwanted—guest. Overall story occurs from CoS to post-DH, disregarding the Epilogue.

Warnings: AU, EWE. Rating may increase in later chapters.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made by the humble (and quite poor) fanfic author, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

oOo

_Principals and Honor_

CHAPTER 9

Filch's suspicious glance seemed to be enough to keep students at bay as he walked "Miss Beecham" back to Southeast Tower. Once they caught sight of the scrawny cat or trailing caretaker, children loitering in the hallways during the staff break made a run for the study halls and library, mindful that they might otherwise lose house points. With a reluctantly polite nod, Filch deposited her at the tower's entrance, and she excitedly ran up the stairs, clutching Dumbledore's parchments.

She made a beeline for the secretary desk, moving aside the inkwell before quickly untying and unfurling the surprisingly long papers. The top parchment contained details about her temporary home and job responsibilities, all elegantly executed in black ink:

_**Work schedule**_

_Monday through Friday_

_Half-past eight: Staff meeting, staff room (Ground Floor)_

_Nine o'clock to eleven forty-five: Assist the Deputy Headmistress, Transfiguration Classroom and Minerva McGonagall's Office (first floor)_

_One to five o'clock: Assist Professor Severus Snape, Potions Classroom and Office (dungeon)_

_Breaks: Individual schedules allowing, twenty-minute staff breaks may be taken in the staff room or offices Monday through Friday at half-past ten and three o'clock. A weekly schedule assigns staff to patrol halls during breaks and class-long study halls._

_**Meals**_

_Meals are served in the Great Hall (ground floor) for forty-five minutes from start time. Staff dines at the High Table._

_Weekday meals are served at half-past seven, noon, and half-past five. Saturday and Sunday meals are served at nine, one, and six o'clock. Tea, snacks, and meals in your suite may be obtained through your house-elf. The Staff Room also stocks tea supplies. Please be aware that mail delivery, via multiple owls, occurs during breakfast._

_**Building and grounds access**_

_The Library__ (Fourth Floor) is open until eight o'clock nightly, opening at eight o'clock Monday through Friday and nine o'clock Saturday and Sunday. You may check out any book except those in the Restricted Section. Due to inherent dangers, you may enter this section only in the physical presence of a member of the teaching staff or myself; and you may check out a Restricted Section book only with written permission of a Head of House or myself. _

_The Staff Room__ is always open. A general office and classroom supplies room is in the rear. Individual staff members maintain specialty supplies in or near their classrooms. Please consult staff before entering any specialty supplies areas._

_The Hospital Wing__ (First Floor) is supervised by Madame Pomfrey. She maintains all medical supplies and will provide assistance if you become ill. _

_Common Rooms__ are accessible only by password. You may enter with permission from the Head of House or by student invitation._

_Greenhouses__ are under the purview of Professor Sprout. Her permission is required before entering since many magical plants can be dangerous. _

_You have free access to the Hogwarts __grounds__ during non-curfew daylight hours. The Enchanted Forest remains off-limits, as it is for students. For further safety, do no approach any animals unless accompanied by a competent staff member._

_Words of caution:__ Staircases can be tricky. For the most part, they remain in place. I am aware of one, however, that sometimes swivels. Many unused classrooms and storage areas in Hogwarts are empty and may be used for study or to practice musical instruments. Do not leave any personal belongings to collect later because some rooms move, so you may not be able to find the same room twice. The Astronomy Tower provides an excellent view of the environs. If you wish to stargaze there, however, please do so only when accompanied by staff; you may ask permission of Professor Sinistra to observe an Astronomy class (midnight). _

_**Assistant's Responsibilities**_

_To carry out those duties assigned directly by the Deputy Headmistress and Potions Professor, subject to changes or additional instructions from the Headmaster. Work will take place primarily in the Transfiguration and Potions classrooms, the same offices and the Deputy Headmistress' office during class hours and at other places and times as required. The assistant will attend staff and other meetings as required._

_No classes or office hours are scheduled on week-ends or holidays. However, as this is a boarding school, students are always present and you may be asked to assist staff._

"Hmmph." Nadia's mouth twisted as she thought. _The job description certainly is vague._ _But at least it's more frank than adding the usual "other duties as assigned."_

She pulled the other parchment from beneath and placed it on top.

_Nadia Beecham_

_Born: 23 December 1960_

_Kaiser Hospital, Portland, Ore._

It was not the actual hospital in which she was born, but Nadia wondered how Dumbledore could know the name of any actual Portland hospital.

_Parents: Darin Beecham and Ellen Pearson _

_Grandparents: David Beecham/Carolyn Smith, Adam Pearson/Josie Jones_

_Schools: Woodlawn, Roseway and Madison, Portland, Ore.; Portland State University_

Gradually, a pattern emerged. The information listed was very close to the truth, just slightly off. For instance, the schools listed were located close to the ones she'd actually attended. It was a system that would allow her to easily memorize the false history, and more able to recite the information as fact.

The legend Dumbledore had created was that she was an American witch—Pureblood but poor, and her family had largely forgotten magic. That was why she did things "the Muggle way" and rarely carried a wand. She had learned of her magical ancestry barely a year earlier, was too old to enter the Salem Witches' Institute and was currently unqualified for American wizarding college. Her inquiries led a Salem official to suggest that she contact the influential Dumbledore about possibly securing a temporary assistant position, giving her exposure to the magical world and, perhaps, a good reference.

Shortly before noon, a spicy scent signaled lunch's magical delivery. Next to a hot plate filled with assorted Indian foods was a small, folded parchment, which Nadia plucked and unfolded with one hand as she hungrily forked up curried rice with the other. The missive read: _I shall visit at five o'clock. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster_

She spent the early afternoon memorizing the parchments and consulting _Hogwarts: A History_, particularly the castle maps. Using the Entrance Hall and Great Hall as landmarks would make it fairly easy to find the offices and classrooms she'd be working in, as well as the other locations Dumbledore had mentioned by name. And she could hardly wait to get outside, to stretch her legs and—most of all—to explore.

oOo

Promptly at three, a soft rap announced Dumbledore's arrival. Nadia greeted him at the door, and the two sat down before the fire.

"Did you have a chance to read your background?" he asked, his eyes twinkling as if in jest.

"Yes." She nodded. "It sounds plausible. But I have to ask: the Salem Witches' Institute?"

He broke into a chuckle. "It's real," he said, smiling broadly.

"You—Miss Beecham, that is—have not attended a wizarding institution, which is not unusual—most of the schools are difficult to enter because of limited enrollment and the costs, and the United States, unfortunately, has only the one college preparatory school. Some well-to-do American wizards send their children to schools in Canada and Continental Europe, but most are taught at home—if they learn much magic at all," Dumbledore explained.

"You see, the American wizarding community is largely assimilated with the Muggle community. There are some all-wizard communities, magically hidden from Muggle view, but you've never been to one." He sighed. "The Salem Witches' Institute would like for more magical education to be offered, more schools opened, but the trend over the last two hundred years has been toward assimilation. Therefore, there is a lack of interest, funding, and support. Young people like you, who are too old for the school must find other means to educate themselves. Apprenticeships and tutoring are among the few options."

This gave her a new view of her home country. Could it be that for all of these years, she'd unknowingly studied, worked, and lived among witches and wizards all along? It was mind-boggling.

"I have informed the Ministry of Magic that you are at Hogwarts to develop various skills so that you may one day return to America to privately tutor young witches and wizards," he continued. "You have agreed to provide staff assistance in return for instruction, room and board. Our Ministry wants to encourage good relations with overseas wizard folk." He raised his brows congenially. "Since your family doesn't have money and you are not being paid here, it won't raise suspicions that you remain on the Hogwarts grounds at all times. After all, to go into Hogsmeade or London means spending money."

Nadia nodded in understanding.

"Your responsibility is to remember and follow the cover story closely, and to do nothing that would raise suspicions amongst the students and other staff," the Headmaster emphasized. "You will be addressed in public by all as Miss Beecham. Most of the staff will probably call you by your Christian name when students aren't present, unless you ask them otherwise.

"Tonight you'll have the opportunity to meet my friend Devawn Chittleham, who is quite pleased to take your place. She's always wanted to visit the American West Coast. It meets your approval, I hope, that she will live in your apartment and take your job?"

"Yes, of course! I just don't understand how …"

"As you've read, magic doesn't always involve a wand and an incantation. Potions also can be used, and there is one called Polyjuice that allows one to take another person's form." He smiled at her surprise. "It's very simple. Devawn will just need a bit of hair from your brush. It's the key ingredient that will transform her into your image."

Nadia goggled, at a loss for words.

"You shall meet her in my office to discuss all of the details, particularly about your job and social life. She'll need to know who you know, what you do. Do you have any questions?"

"Well, yes." She looked the Headmaster in the eye. "Once this is over—when I go home—will I remember any of Hogwarts?"

His eyebrows rose slightly before he recalled that she had been allowed to read several basic magical texts. "No, my dear, I'm afraid not. We can't have a Muggle running around telling about Hogwarts, and if you did you might wind up in a mental institution. You would be given memories of a wonderful vacation and what Devawn, posing as you, did at work, just as if they were your own. It's all for the best, you see."

She nodded her understanding, then hesitated. "My friends, acquaintances—they won't know that something's, well, 'off'?"

"One of the reasons you should meet Devawn is for her to observe you and pick up your speech patterns and mannerisms as best she can," Dumbledore explained. "She's done this many times before and has never been discovered."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "It might be helpful for you to know a few things about the teachers with whom you'll be working.

"Minerva McGonagall has been on staff since the 1950s. She was an outstanding Hogwarts student, and I was pleased when she agreed to teach Transfiguration and head Gryffindor. She is a strict but fair instructor, and has proven to be a very effective and welcome Deputy Headmistress. You can probably imagine the amount of responsibility she has with the three positions. The paperwork is heavy, and your help will be a boon to her.

"With a few temporary exceptions, Severus is our youngest staff member, having begun teaching here only three years after finishing Hogwarts. I am proud to say that he was one of Hogwarts' finest students ever, having achieved Outstandings on all but one N.E.W.T.—the tests given at the end of seventh year—and an Exceptional on the other. Severus is a brilliant Potions master. He is also head of Slytherin, which is a powerful House academically, in Quidditch and …otherwise.

"He has a reputation for being particularly stern and impatient. I believe that is from a combination of being an especially gifted wizard, the lack of socialization when he was a young boy, and perhaps a belief that he needs to prove himself on staff. Quite frankly, most of the students are afraid of him. Though he may intimidate you, I assure you that he does no harm." The old wizard smiled benignly.

"Given that this is a school of magic, there are some dangers. I trust Severus, and that includes entrusting your safety to him, as well as to Minerva. All of the staff takes seriously their responsibility to protect the school and _everyone_ here, Severus more so than any other. If ever you sense or see any danger, you can turn to any staff member, but particularly to Severus, Minerva, or me." The old wizard smiled benignly. "And do pay particular heed in Potions. There is a potential for explosions or poisonous gases."

He glanced up at the mantle clock. "You'll need time to prepare for dinner. I trust you had a chance to consult the maps. Can you find your own way to the Great Hall?"

Nadia nodded eagerly. "Yes, it should be easy." She straightened in her chair, taking on a more formal demeanor. "I'm honored to work with all of you, and thank you, again, for this opportunity—and for accommodating me."

The Headmaster nodded kindly and stood up. "I shall leave you to prepare for dinner. Ah, and do bring your brush. But first, allow me to set the ward for you." Following his signal, she rose and moved toward the door.

"The ward?" she asked, as the door magically opened.

"Basically, the locking mechanism," he explained. "You can choose a password that will open and lock the door for you. Only Severus, Minerva and I will know it." The door closed, and Dumbledore murmured an incantation and tapped the door. "Now say the password you've selected."

Taking a deep breath, she spoke: "Faith." Noting the slight hitch in her breath, the old wizard nodded and tapped the door once again. The thick oak slab swung open to the sun-washed sitting room. "There. It is set. I look forward to seeing you at dinner."

He winked with obvious mischief. Her delighted laughter followed him as he headed down the spiral stairways.

oOo

Just before five-thirty, Nadia made her way through the Ground Floor corridor to her first public Hogwarts meal. From her first night's experience, the maps and _Hogwarts: A History_, she knew there would be four full tables of curious students, plus the staff. Some hurrying to the Great Hall glanced back at the stranger, but most were busy visiting or hurrying forth to fill their growling stomachs. Pausing at the huge doorway, she decided to walk along one of the walls rather than down the center to the High Table.

As she walked along the left side, students from all tables raised heads and turned, and a few hoots rose from a few Sixth and Seventh Year boys responding to the only formal clothes she'd packed. Her shapely legs clearly showed through the slinky black knit skirt's thigh-high side split, and décolletage peeked from the black tee-shirt's V-neck. Snape's eyes racked over her unapprovingly. He wasn't the least bit fooled by "Miss Beecham" walking with head held high; her initial near-trip at the first hoot was a dead giveaway to nervousness.

The Head Table was filled with an interesting assortment: Young and old, friendly and serious, a tiny fellow who apparently used a booster seat, and an absolute giant of a man with wild hair. All wore highly unusual clothing—which meant her Muggle garb marked her as the odd person out, she realized.

Dumbledore rose to greet Nadia and showed her to a chair at the end of the High Table, next to an exotic-looking woman. Professor Aurora Sinistra greeted her with regal formality, and the guest quickly took her seat, grateful that the embarrassing ordeal was over. But then the Headmaster rapped his glass with a spoon, calling for attention.

"It is my great pleasure to introduce to you Hogwarts' new assistant, Miss Nadia Beecham," he said, and following his hand signal, Nadia briefly rose, color flooding her cheeks. "Miss Beecham hails from America, the 'Wild West,' one might say. Some of you in Transfiguration and Potions classes will see her most often, but she may also occasionally assist with Muggle Studies. You will notice that as part of her upbringing in America she rarely uses magic, and we will honor that. Please give her every courtesy you would to any other staff, and greet her warmly."

Following the staff's lead, the students applauded, many gawking. Nadia scanned the room from beneath her eyelashes and observed a few students sniggering, at one table in particular. Those same students' eyes darted to Professor Snape, who raised a warning eyebrow. They quieted quickly, attention returned to their tablemates.

She jumped when the Headmaster clapped his hands and food magically appeared on the tables. This apparently was a regular dinner, but to her it was a holiday feast: Platters of broiled fish, smoked ham, and grilled lamb; potatoes au gratin, and couscous peppered with raisins and dates; crisp green salad with slivers of carrots and tomato wedges; steaming green beans with yellow pepper chunks; cornucopias of fruit; fresh-baked rolls and slices of bread; tea, coffee, wine, juices and water. The staff table also had selections of desserts. She wondered why the students' tables didn't until later in the meal, when they, too, had choice selections. Apparently, the powers-that-be (whatever they were) wanted to ensure the students ate nutritious food before the sweets.

"Ah, I have never met anyone from the American West," Sinistra said with a Middle Eastern accent. "Is it dangerous?"

"Um, dangerous?"

"The natives shoot the bows and arrows at the cowboys?" the sloe-eyed beauty asked seriously.

Nadia laughed. "Not anymore, just in the movies. It's the highways that are dangerous now."

The bejeweled and silk-swathed woman conversed easily throughout the meal, revealing that she was Iranian and taught astronomy. She had spent the summer months in the Australian Outback and Chile's Patagonia, observing the Southern sky and preparing a paper for presentation at an upcoming European conference.

Toward the end of dinner, Gilderoy Lockhart, the new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, made a show of approaching the new aide, flashing his teeth and flattering her. Snape turned away, disgusted with the idiot author's prancing showiness and the ridiculous inclination females of all ages seemed to have for him.

The Headmaster rescued Miss Beecham by asking her to join him and Minerva in his office. Once upstairs, the two senior staff members reviewed with her some basic Ministry paperwork. Minerva gave Nadia a lesson in using a quill and parchment, well knowing the difficulties Muggle-borns had with the unfamiliar objects.

Devawn Chittleham Floo'd into the Headmaster's fireplace in a dramatically sputtering entrance. Nadia watched wide-eyed as the coughing and snorting Devawn dusted off a blue Muggle suit with a wildly patterned pink blouse. The woman was barely five-foot tall with thinning blonde hair, thick ankles, and appeared to be nearly 60 years old. It was hard to believe she could pull off the Polyjuice feat, but Nadia had to trust Dumbledore and the many incredible things she'd read and was gradually accepting as true. Dumbledore and McGonagall excused themselves, leaving the two younger women alone.

After expressing sympathy for Beecham's predicament, Chittleham deftly interviewed the American and took detailed notes about her work, and apartment complex. The witch's questions demonstrated detailed knowledge of everyday Muggle life, and Nadia was reassured that bills arriving at home would be promptly addressed.

Chittleham tilted her head. "You've made little mention of your family," she ventured.

Nadia's mouth pulled sideways with regret. "Well, we're not really close. My mother died in '86. Dad—Darrell—remarried in '89 and lives in Florida. We call each other on our birthdays, and he calls on Thanksgiving weekend and Easter, but otherwise he pretty much concentrates on her family, who are all there in Sarasota," she answered. "My sister's family lives in Katy, Texas. Dee's husband, Phil, is a contractor, and has built many homes there. They've got three kids, all in school and activities."

"Do you or they ever visit?"

"I went to Florida once and a couple of times to see Dee." Nadia shifted uncomfortably. "But I felt more like an observer, you know? Everyone was off doing this and that, and I was just kind of hanging around, following around. They've been too busy to visit. We've all really gone our separate ways."

"I'm sorry," Devawn said sincerely, "but I understand how that happens. I was the only magical one in the family. My family was proud of me, but they couldn't identify, so when we're together, we don't talk about that aspect of my life." She smiled in shared confidence, then continued. "So what about your friends? Your interests?"

"Again, I'm kind of an outsider," Nadia said, wanting to be honest but afraid she was sounding, well, pathetic. "I like to spend my private time reading and doing quiet things."

She hesitated, biting her lower lip and avoiding Chittleham's gaze while wondering how to explain. Devawn waited patiently.

"My family attended church but wouldn't really call themselves 'spiritual.'" Nadia stole a glance at Chittleham, who seemed to be listening with openness. "I've always been a very serious person. I take my faith very seriously."

Devawn gave a small nod. Taking a deep breath, Nadia decided to barrel ahead.

"While in high school, I began learning contemplative prayer. It's basically a quieting of the mind and spirit, to listen rather than to speak or ask."

"Meditation," Chittleham said with an understanding expression.

"Well, that's not the same. Meditation can help lead into contemplation, but contemplation is a 'prayer of the heart.' In the most blessed situation, it could be considered a temporary joining with God." She shook her head. "I don't know if I can explain ... It's like how you can sit silently but very comfortably with a dear friend.

"I tell you this because you'll see a small altar where I pray at home. I sometimes go to the church in the evenings or the weekends, alone, just to pray when it's quiet. And I've talked a lot about it with my priest, and he sometimes tells me about things he thinks I'd be interested in, like contemplative prayer weekends at monasteries in the region. I've spent some vacations at them." Nadia smiled sheepishly. "It's not the most common hobby."

Devawn laughed gently, breaking the tension, and Nadia noticed the dimples in her cheeks. "Are you Roman Catholic?"

"No, Episcopalian—High Anglican, here," Nadia said, grateful that the woman was nonjudgmental.

"My family is Methodist, but an in-law is an Anglican priest and I've been to several services," the witch said. "And, of course, there have been more than a few weddings and funerals."

Nadia felt she could ask something she'd been wondering about. "So some Muggle-born witches and wizards are Christian?"

"Not just Muggle-borns, but it's been my experience that most religious wizard-folk are either Muggle-born or half-blood." Devawn set the quill she'd been using on a side table. "I'd say about a quarter of witches and wizards profess a faith. It's rather a mix—some old Druid, some Western religions, some Eastern."

"Is there a church here at Hogwarts?"

The older woman's hazel eyes took on a faraway look. "When I was in school, there was a chaplain who came my first two years. He set up in an unused classroom, and he conducted ecumenical services. There were others who came to lead other religions' services. Then the war—World War II and the wizarding world's version—became serious, and the school governors decided there shouldn't be outside visitors." Devawn brought her focus back to Nadia. "Services never resumed after the war. I understand that parents sometimes pull out their children for special religious observations, but certainly not regularly."

Chittleham glanced down at her notes.

"So besides church, what interests do you have?"

Nadia smiled, relaxed. "I love music. I'm in the smaller church choir, which sings at some evening services. We meet Wednesdays at seven. And I'm also in a community group that plays medieval and Renaissance music. We perform occasionally, but since it's a rather specialized area"—she grinned—"there aren't a lot of opportunities. Practices are the first and third Thursdays. I'll write down the address, and names." Her eyebrows rose. "Oh, I just bought a lute here in Scotland. So someone from the group might ask about it."

Devawn sat more deeply in her chair. "Hmm. I can sing, but I don't play. What excuse might be acceptable?"

Nadia bit her lower lip, thinking. "I supposed that it wasn't ready, and it will be shipped later."

Devawn nodded, scribbling another note before turning the conversation back to Nadia's work. As the information exchange wound down, Dumbledore returned, alone, taking his seat behind the large desk and discreetly reading a parchment from a large pile. When the two women appeared finished, he looked up.

"Well, it's been a long evening. Do you have everything you need, Devawn?" he asked, his eyes sparkling brightly.

"I believe so. Except—." She looked apologetically at Nadia. "Might I borrow your keys?"

Somehow, that request made it all too real. Hesitating a moment, Nadia reached down for her purse, fished inside, and pulled out a ring with two keys. "This one's for the apartment. And this is for the car," she said, holding them up. "I left the rest at home, in the kitchen cabinet above the sink. You'll need them for work." With that, Nadia held them out, her hand shaking slightly.

After accepting them, Devawn patted her hand, smiling encouragingly. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine—I promise."

Dumbledore, having witnessed the exchange, cleared his throat. "Did you bring your hair brush?" he asked kindly.

Nadia obediently extracted it from the purse and held it nervously, unsure what to do. "Why don't you give your lovely hair 50 strokes, and then I should have enough for a couple of weeks," Devawn suggested. After Nadia followed suit, Devawn took the brush, ran her free hand's fingers between the nylon bristles, lifted out several strands of short, brown hair, and handed the instrument back.

The castle's enormous clock began striking ten-thirty, and Dumbledore looked at Nadia. "Thank you for working so closely with Devawn, and please rest well. You have a big day tomorrow!" Smiling broadly, he rose and came around the desk. The women exchanged pleasantries, and Dumbledore guided Nadia to the office door, murmuring reassurances before closing the door behind her and returning to Chittleham.

Nadia stepped off the revolving stairway and stood still for several moments before heading down the wide, stone staircase. Weary but excited Nadia walked through Hogwarts, pausing only once in confusion before recalling the map and turning around to take the correct corridor. Enamored with the prospect of working in a veritable fairy tale, meeting Devawn had emphasized the serious reality—and dredged up thoughts she'd been trying to shove aside. _If something happens to me, none of my friends and family will ever know. No one will tell them. I'll just be gone._ She reached the guest tower's opening and disappeared inside.

Snape watched from dark halls and alcoves, making certain that she went to her room, but as the spy always looking for telling actions. Even from the distance, he knew of her mixed excitement and uncertainly, awe and dread, and the heavy burden of her unknown future.

The suite's door closed above, the "click" carrying down the narrow stone stairwell. Snape paused, thinking, before resuming his rounds.

oOo

A/N: Please do leave a review, Dear Reader. I am curious about what you think.

Many thanks to my beta, Noleme, for her thoughtful suggestions and edits. She certainly makes a great contribution to the story!

Non-canon Latin words/translations are from .edu. References include The Harry Potter Lexicon and Potterwords. Although potions ingredients in this fiction story are sometimes listed as possible treatments, none of them should be used for such purposes unless in consultation with a qualified medical doctor.


	10. Chapter 10

Story summary: At the start of Potter's second year at Hogwarts, additional duties fall on Severus Snape's shoulders with the arrival of an unexpected—and unwanted—guest. Occurs from CoS to post-DH, disregarding the Epilogue. Warnings: AU, EWE. Rated T.

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine but was created by the great JKR. This lowly fanfic writer is making absolutely no money, just hoping to collect a few reviews and friends.

oOo

_**Principles and Honor**_

**Chapter 10**

Armed with a tote filled with parchment, quills, and ink from McGonagall, Nadia showed up early in the Great Hall for breakfast.

From the dozens of empty seats, it was apparent that some young people preferred to get extra shut-eye or, perhaps, simply weren't hungry. Diners wandered in throughout the meal and, among the students, in varying states of wakefulness. Whereas during dinner the previous evening, the students had been full of energy and laughter, some now were tired, grumpy, and squinting, and many had their heads buried in books, desperately trying to catch up before the first classes began. Food was already on the tables, the hot items all in chafing dishes so that late arrivals' choices would still be warm.

No longer the center of attention, Nadia enjoyed a leisurely meal of eggs and toast, chatted with Professor Sinistra, and kept an eye on McGonagall, with whom she'd tag along to work.

Although she'd been informed about the mail deliveries, it was still amazing to see of dozens of owls of various species carrying letters and even packages to students and staff. Nadia initially ducked when the first birds arrived in the huge room, then composed herself, although her eyes remained large with wonder.

A speckled barn owl, its broad, white face encircled by a dark, heart-shaped ring, landed near her coffee. Aurora looked at the parchment tied to its leg, and turned her large brown eyes on Nadia. "It is for you." Dumbstruck, Nadia carefully removed the tightly-wound scroll from the fluttering bird, and unrolled it.

_Good luck today! _

_Albus Dumbledore, your Headmaster _

She leaned over to smile at the Headmaster, who waved cheerfully. Sinistra reached over to feed the large bird a sausage link. With a squawk, the owl flew off, the tasty morsel caught in its claws.

oOo

Seated in the back of McGonagall's classroom, Nadia immediately got to work, sifting through several years' worth of Hogwarts attendance records the Ministry wanted arranged into a new consolidated system. Nadia recognized the similarities between Ministry of Magic and American government bureaucratic workings that seemed to continually develop new, increasingly time-consuming methods to achieve the same results as from simpler, clearer means. With a shake of the head, she knew she'd find a shortcut to providing what the Ministry wanted without going through all of the tediously convoluted steps.

She concentrated hard on the Ministry work, but couldn't help being extremely curious about Transfiguration. Pausing a few times, she listened to and watched as McGonagall demonstrated to the First Years how to transform a piece of string into a pencil. Most of the students had difficulty, at best turning the cord into a rough stick. McGonagall shooed them to their next class with the admonition to practice that night.

After class, McGonagall took Nadia to the staff room. "Now dear, I think you should take a look at this catalog," the Scotswoman said, handing her _Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions: Order-by-Owl._ "You'll need to send your measurements so that the robe can be properly tailored. Since you're unaccustomed to it, I wouldn't mind if you prefer not to wear it in my room, but do be sure to wear it when working with Severus. He has a high sense of propriety and tradition, and it wouldn't do to offend him."

All sparkling teeth, groomed hair, and fine tailoring, Lockhart made a beeline to the new assistant, armed with a cup of tea in each hand and a couple of books under one arm.

"Good morning, Miss Beecham! You're a bright sight on a gloomy day," he gushed, handing her a steaming cup.

Snape's eyes snapped sideways to take in Lockhart's display and Beecham's response. She seemed to welcome the fawning fraud's attentions, bestowing a warm smile on him. Mouth twisted in distaste, the Potions master settled deeper into his high-backed chair, returning to his reading but keeping his ears open, as always.

"I hope you're finding Hogwarts to be everything you desire," the famed author continued. "It's quite an esteemed school in Europe, don't you know. The Dark Arts program has suffered somewhat, but I'm pulling it up to standards." He dramatically presented the tomes. "By the way, I'd like for you to have these books. They're among my several best-sellers. How do you spell your lovely name?" he asked, whipping out a gold-trimmed quill.

The other staff normally would have been buzzing about their first morning classes, but Lockhart's show with the new assistant was drawing quite a bit of attention. Sprout plopped into a chair facing Minerva, Snape only a few feet away in the corner.

"Look at him! As if he didn't get enough adulation during his signing at Flourish & Blotts in August, and using Potter to get that free advertising in _The Prophet_," Pomona grumbled. "And being from America"—the Herbology teacher motioned to Beecham—"she probably hasn't heard of him."

"Nadia seems to be a rather quick study. I shouldn't think it long before she knows what's what," Minerva replied. "A few chapters of one of his books ought to do it."

"Assuming she knows anything at all about the subjects," Snape interjected snidely. "They might just make the perfect pair."

"What condemnation!" Sprout answered. "I take it you think she's none too bright."

"I reserve judgment," he replied, upper lip pulling into a sneer.

"It's early in the school year, Severus." Minerva looked at him astutely. "Pace yourself. You've ten more months to make your pithy observations and cutting remarks."

"Yes, and when it comes to material, I'm sure Gryffindor House will supply plenty of fodder." Snape sharply closed his reading and stood. "I think I ought to go to the Potions room. The air is cleaner there," he said, pointedly looking in Lockhart's direction before gliding out.

oOo

Before leaving for lunch, McGonagall and Beecham met in the Deputy Headmistress's office. The witch briefly explained the House system and Cup competition, presented a list of staff positions and names, and provided some detail about each.

Pomona Sprout was the bustling, mothering Herbology teacher and leader of Hufflepuff. The diminutive Charms instructor Filius Flitwick had a sharp mind, keen wit, and was in charge of Ravenclaw. Snape taught Potions and headed Sytherin, the table at which he'd shot warning glances the previous night. Since they lived on-site and shared patrol duties, these were the staff Nadia would see most often, McGonagall said.

Depending on how long she'd be at Hogwarts, there were others she might come to know. The groundskeeper, Hagrid, was a loyal and gentle half-giant, a kind animal lover and students' favorite. Rolanda Hooch was a tomboy at Hogwarts, and after a sports career and raising a family, returned to teach broomstick flying and to coach Quidditch, a thrilling game for skilled flyers. Nadia had leaned out of McGonagall's window to watch in wonder as students Summoned and flew brooms.

Veronica Vector taught Arithmancy, a sort of wizard form of mathematics; Charity Burbage, Muggle Studies; Sybill Trelawney, Divination; and Professor Kettleburn, Care of Magical Creatures. She was told that the history teacher, Professor Binns, did not dine in the Great Hall or mingle with staff. Irma Pince was the librarian; and Sinistra she'd already met. With any luck, she'd have no need to become well acquainted with Poppy Pomfrey, the infirmarian. And, of course, there was Professor Lockhart. Nadia thought he was very good-looking but terribly self-absorbed.

As they walked together to lunch, Minerva requested that Nadia meet with her again after dinner.

Somewhat overwhelmed but elated to experience such a place, Nadia enjoyed watching the students' bantering as she thought about Hogwarts and its fascinating people. Dumbledore was the first with whom she'd had an extended conversation, and seemed to be a kindly grandfather who was deeply concerned about each of his students. McGonagall was tough and no-nonsense, but there were glimpses of softness. Snape, however, exuded tight confidence, skill and control with more than a hint of wildness about him. Her instinct told her to stay well away, but his eyes and unusual looks intrigued her .

Well, she wouldn't be there for long. Whatever kept her trapped at Hogwarts would soon come to an end, and then she would be made to forget. She could only hope that she'd dream of it, especially the enigmatic Severus Snape.

oOo

She was completely unprepared for the Potions classroom's drab appearance and fearsome atmosphere. Lit by wall-mounted torches and candles on the tables, it was cold and uninviting. One wall was partly lined with shelves holding cauldrons of various types, plus a cleaning area with water flowing from a particularly disturbing gargoyle's mouth into a deep, stone sink. An adjoining wall contained a glassed-in supply cabinet that even from a distance she could tell contained benign-looking plant stuff as well as whole and partial animals, insects and other things she wasn't near enough to identify, nor wanted to be. Assorted odd and disgusting objects floated in glass jars that were part of the "décor."

Snape's high, old-fashioned desk rose from a platform reached by three steep steps. A blank, freestanding blackboard was centered in front of the platform, and before it extended two rows of long tables. To one side stood a little table and desk. Nadia placed her tote there and sat, awaiting Professor Snape and his orders.

Snape emerged from his office, gave her a sharp nod, looked about the room, then strode to the classroom's door. At precisely one o'clock, he flung open the heavy oak door and barked at the milling students to enter. They poured in, quickly and almost silently seating themselves.

"This," he said, his voice almost contemptuous, "is Miss Beecham. In future, she will perform"—he looked at her a moment—"various banal tasks. Today she will silently observe class. You will not ask questions of her, nor ask her help. You are here to study Potions. She is here to serve." The last remark elicited a few giggles from the students on the far side of the room, which he ignored.

Whipping his wand toward the blackboard, diagrams appeared on a previously blank space. "When we last met, _nearly_ all of you"—he leveled a brief stare at an earnest, bushy-haired girl—"managed to foul this room with a putrefied version of a Scintillation Solution, and matters were not helped much by Mister Finnigan bringing a banned Zonko's product into the room. You are well aware that the offending parties are serving a week's detention, and that Gryffindor managed to lose 150 points in a single class."

Students on the room's right side appeared petrified, while those on the other wore expressions varying from angelic to smirks.

"Since you have proven yourselves incompetent in such basic potion-making, today you will review the proper preparation of key ingredients to the Shrinking and Hair-raising potions: rats' spleens and tails."

There were low groans, mostly from the right side of the room.

"SILENCE! You will each dissect two rats, keeping all parts intact, and place the spleens and tails into properly marked containers. Mr. Longbottom"—his voice dripped acid as he pointed to a scared-looking Second Year—"will have the honor of placing the remaining parts in the proper solution. Begin!"

Snape whirled and congratulated himself for terrorizing not only his students, but also his new aide. While Nadia appeared relatively composed, he saw that she was breathing heavily and there was a light dew on her forehead.

"Miss Beecham," he said, crooking a finger toward himself. "Come here." Snape took her to one of the tables nearest his desk. "Mr. Malfoy here will demonstrate for you the proper method of dissecting a rat. He has proven himself adept at potions, far more so than his Gryffindor counterparts," he said, dismissively indicating the students in the aisle nearest her desk. He positioned her against the table, ensuring she would have an excellent view.

She wanted to take a step back but didn't dare. Forcing her eyes to focus on the dissection, Nadia tried to find within herself a scientific mindset in hope of calming her stomach. The smirking child, whom she'd immediately spotted as one of last night's sniggerers, made great show of his skills, closely holding up to and identifying for her each dripping body part.

When he wasn't slashing his quills through essays at his desk, Snape made passes through the room, sometimes peering at Malfoy's work from over her shoulder. It was unnecessary to stand so close, but he was rewarded by her jump and flinch when he did so. Instilling inquietude provided a thrill of power that Slytherins so enjoy.

The Potions master demanded that the room be put to order without a speck of leftover blood, and the students obeyed, then most of them fled. Malfoy and his cadre tarried before Snape, who in a less irritated voice warned them they would be late for their next class.

"Miss Beecham!" Snape hissed when she'd thought he'd forgotten her presence. "There is an empty shelf in the supply closet to hold all of these specimens. Kindly store them there, neatly and according to content. When you have finished, there are several boxes of new bottles that I require in the lab. Please take them there, and affix blank labels to each one. I expect that each label will be placed precisely."

With a murmured, "Yes, sir," she set to work. She entered the supply closet and stood a few moments, transfixed by the array of bottled items, some familiar, most not. All were labeled in the spiky script she'd glimpsed on the parchments on Snape's desk. It was deeply tempting to peruse the shelves but she had the feeling the man in the next room would be displeased by any delay.

Glancing around, she spotted a pile of neatly stacked, small wooden crates and picked up the uppermost two. From the light weight, they obviously were empty so she returned with them to the classroom to begin collecting the filled bottles. The smell of dead rodents still hung heavily, and while handling the bottles she tried not to look at the contents to avoid triggering her gag reflex. It was necessary, however, to note the labels so that she could group the containers according to body parts.

Back in the supply closet, she took a closer look at the contents. Animal products had their own wall while vegetable and liquid matter were scattered on the other wall's shelves, which even extended above the door. Nadia fixed her attention on the animal shelves, skimming the labels._ Cat—cat?—guts. Fire crab. Liondragon fur … Nundu spots. Wonder what those are? Centaur fur—you've got to be kidding! Ramora …closer … Raven. Ah!_ The rat section was composed of tidy single rows, and she added to them. After finishing, she "faced" each shelf so that all of the front jars were within a half-inch of the edge.

That finished, she proceeded to search for the new bottles. In the murky light cast by the far wall's two candles she spotted numerous new boxes, unblemished and apparently new. Bending for a better look, she read: "24 jars, Slug & Jiggers Apothecary. By special order to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. September 1992." A count showed there were eighteen boxes.

Grabbing hold of two sides of one box, Nadia lifted it with a grunt, turned and carried it into the classroom. Wondering where she might find the necessary supplies, she looked about—catching Snape seated at his desk and staring at her with one brow lifted.

"Difficulties?" he asked flatly, his quill in mid-air.

"I, um, was wondering where to find the labels," Nadia replied. _Why am I so nervous?_

Rising, Snape spun on his heel and briskly but elegantly moved to the wall behind his desk. Drawers of various sizes and odd shapes extended from the floor to waist height, and above that were cabinets. Each had a unique, carved design and handle. One cabinet depicted shooting stars, another a herd of beasts. A drawer front seemed to portray a clenched fist; its neighbor, various symbols. The pulls were of silver, gold, brass, iron, glass and even woven materials in all manner of styles, some plain and some elaborate.

A drawer on the left side popped open before Snape even reached it. From within he extracted a pile of pure white labels, which he sent floating to the table Nadia had selected for her work. While she gaped at the passing parchment, the Potions master returned to his desk.

"Uh, thanks," Nadia said softly, still stunned by the display of simple magic. Snape merely returned his attention to the papers he had been grading.

Nadia lifted the lid off the crate and began methodically removing the bottles. It was only after she'd placed all of them on the worn-smooth table top and picked up the first rectangular piece of parchment that she realized the problem. There was no adhesive on the label. On none of them, in fact.

Snape was scowling at whatever he was reading. She watched as he thrust his red-tipped quill against the paper and the feather tremblingly jerked to and fro from his angry critique. A final mark on the top, and he magically deposited the essay onto a pile of similarly red-spotted parchments.

"Professor?" she began, watching his quill hand stop in mid-air.

His black eyes flashed up to meet hers. "What is it now?" he demanded, the furrow between his brows deepening in annoyance.

"Do you have any glue?" Nadia shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

"Glue? Why ever would I have glue?" Snape inquired in the attitude that she had just asked the world's stupidest question.

"For the labels, of course. Sir," she added hastily, thinking it might prevent his mood from darkening further. A quick upward quirk of her lips added to the message that she was sorry to have disturbed him. "In the drawers, perhaps?"

Exhaling deeply, he rolled his eyes. "I've no need for glue—or Spell-o-tape, for that matter," he responded wearily. "Merely affix the labels. They will stay on their own."

Raising her eyebrows in surprise, Nadia stared at him a moment before giving it a try. Picking up one of the smooth papers, she pressed firmly around the edges and was surprised that it stayed in place. Even picking at the edges couldn't disturb the label. "Huh!" she blurted.

"American eloquence," Snape said snidely while moving the next essay into place for his reading displeasure.

Glancing up, she bit her upper lip, both in thought and annoyance, then returned to the project. After finishing the two dozen jars, she returned the finished box to the supply closet and removed the next new box to repeat the exercise.

She was still hard at it when he left for dinner, ordering her to close the door—which he charmed to lock automatically—when she left the classroom. It was unnecessary for him to say he expected the work to be done when he returned. And much to her surprise, there were twenty-four boxes in the closet. She had been sure there were eighteen. _How odd._

Little did she know that Severus Snape had just established the type of work he would assign regularly.

oOo

Tired, hungry and unnerved, Nadia left the Potions classroom, climbed the stairs and traversed the halls to McGonagall's office. She had first thought the stone office somewhat austere, but now its limited decoration and tall, undraped windows seemed positively lavish in comparison to Snape's domain.

The Scotswoman raised an eyebrow as she took in the assistant's state. Determined not to complain, Nadia shrugged. "It took longer than I expected."

"Perhaps you'd like to be cleaned up a mite?" Minerva asked, slightly raising her wand in offer. Nadia hesitantly nodded, and felt the surprisingly pleasant tingle of magic as a Cleaning spell did its work. At the witch's motioned invitation, Nadia took a seat in one of the tartan-cushioned chairs before a low fire.

"I'll call for something for you, to eat. Severus oughtn't keep you from dinner," McGonagall said a bit tartly. "I wanted you to come here tonight to meet the house-elf serving your rooms, so this is as good a way to meet her as any. Liddy!"

Amid a loud pop and almost instantly-disappearing puff of smoke stood a three-foot-tall, nearly hairless little being with oversized, bat-like ears, a long nose, and enormous dark eyes. Dressed in what appeared to be a striped dish towel, it stood on two bare feet and looked with anxious anticipation at the Deputy Headmistress.

"Liddy is here, Miss!" it said, eager for a response.

"Liddy, I want you to meet Miss Beecham, whose chambers you have been serving so well," the tall Scotswoman said kindly. "Nadia, this is Liddy."

The little thing—_male or female?_ Nadia wondered—bowed, one gangly arm bent at its waist. Nadia gingerly extended her hand, and the elf looked curiously first at it, then her, before timidly offering its hand. As they shook briefly, Nadia found her voice.

"Thank you. You've been doing a marvelous job, Liddy," she said with genuine warmth.

Suddenly standing straight, the elf puffed out its chest and eyes sparkled. "It is Liddy's duty and pleasure to work hard and well for Hogwarts and Miss," it squeaked, clearly proud.

McGonagall interjected. "Liddy, I'm afraid Miss Beecham missed dinner. Would you please bring a plate and two glasses of good wine?"

"Yes, Miss! Dinner right away!" And like that, the elf was gone.

Nadia jerked back in her chair with surprise, then exhaled hard, not realizing she'd been holding her breath.

Observing, McGonagall smiled. "None of the Muggle-borns has ever seen a house-elf before coming to Hogwarts. In fact, many students never see one the entire time they are here, but the major basic work keeping the Castle going is performed by house-elves."

"It's not wearing clothes!" Nadia's outburst surprised herself, including for what her mind fixated on.

At that moment, Liddy returned with a pop, bearing a covered tray. Setting it on the table, the elf popped out again.

Minerva leaned forward to remove the silver dome, revealing beef Wellington, potatoes, gravy, cooked carrots, two glasses of red wine, and a dish of fresh berries. "House-elves do not wear human clothes. In fact, they consider being given clothes an insult. It's simply one of those things we humans must accept."

She sat back with the extra wine glass as Nadia began eating. "They take great joy in working for us. It is, literally, what they live for. If they ever think us disappointed in their work, they punish themselves." Nadia looked up in alarm, and her hostess waved away her concern. "You could make things a bit easier for Liddy if you'd allow her to wash your undergarments."

Nadia blushed. "I just thought I was saving someone some work," she stammered.

"Leave the housework and laundry for the house-elves," the elder woman advised. "Truly, they will be happy, and you have plenty to do." She paused, comfortably familiar with the shock Muggle-borns often demonstrated when learning disturbing facts about the wizarding world. "If you choose to eat in or need something, just say 'Liddy' aloud, and she'll help. Do keep in mind, though, that she has many duties besides tending to your rooms."

The Deputy Headmistress watched the fire for several minutes as Nadia ate. When the clock struck seven-thirty, McGonagall cleared her throat and extended what appeared to be a small, folded tapestry. "You might find this helpful so long as you work here." Nadia took the cloth and unfolded a simple bag with an adjustable leather strap. "Look inside," McGonagall urged.

Unzipping the twelve- by twelve-inch pouch, Nadia pulled apart the two sides and was astonished to find inside stacks of parchment, two quills, and a bottle each of black and red ink. Disbelieving her eyes, she pulled out the contents and was agog. There had to be at least two reams of paper!

Minerva looked like the cat that had gotten into the cream. "A simple charm to help with your weighty work."

Nadia met her eyes, smiling wryly. "Very clever. And amazingly useful. Thank you."

Excusing herself, Minerva went to her desk to grade N.E.W.T.-level essays until Nadia finished eating. Then she sent a paper airplane memo for Filch, who walked Nadia to her suite's stairway.

She was immensely grateful to find a prepared hot bath and a flannel robe atop freshly laundered towels. After bathing, Nadia prayed for a quarter hour before nestling into the four-poster bed and quickly falling asleep, her dreams a jumble of the days' events.

oOo

A/N: I hope you enjoyed Nadia's first day and, especially, more Snape in this chapter. Please review! Thank you, Noleme, for fabulous beta work.


	11. Chapter 11

**Principles and Honor**

_Disclaimer:_ Anything you recognize is not mine but was created by the great JKR. The lowly fanfic writer receives absolutely nothing except fun and, perhaps, some reviews.

Many thanks to Noleme for so kindly betaing this chapter.

CHAPTER 11

Daybreak's light found its way to an opening in Hogwarts' foundation, and traversed ancient ducts to shine through a marble-sized glass set directly opposite of Severus Snape's precisely-placed, plain bed. It was one of several rock crystals embedded in his quarters' upper wall trim to provide natural lighting during the day. This one, however, was spelled to be especially bright, striking the pillow to awaken him.

He cracked open an eye and scowled. Though it was his custom to work late and rise early, he'd gotten even less sleep than normal due to a detentions-enlarged stack of essays, and his carefully planned curricula called for pop quizzes that day.

Sighing, Snape heaved himself out of bed, snatched his wand from the night table, and trudged to the bathroom, scratching his behind through the gray nightshirt's thin fabric. An upward tick of the ebony wood started a shower, and another sent the long-handled brush to sudsing itself from a bar, poised to clean his back after he'd disrobed and entered the stone surround. He turned his head downward to yawn, avoiding a mouthful of hot water but instead getting a flick of soap. He spat violently and grabbed the brush, resolved to finish the job himself.

Wrapped in a towel, he stepped onto the cold floor to the sink, where he shaved his still-soft facial stubble with a straight-edge razor, cursorily brushed his teeth, and hastily combed his lank hair, leaving it to dry on its own.

The armoire doors instantly flung open when he returned to the bedchamber. Several sets of black robes and suits were displayed on hangers, and white linen shirts and ties were stacked on shelves. Shiny black, dragon-hide boots lined the bottom, his single pair of excellent goblin-made footwear directly beneath the formal clothing. They'd cost a pretty Sickle, but they were an important finishing touch. He'd learned from observing the likes of Lucius Malfoy that appearance was everything. That, and protecting one's secrets.

Once dressed and his robe draped over his left arm, he glided through his living quarters, habitually glancing to be sure all was in its place. His assigned house-elf was under strict orders to return everything as it was found, but it was best to be sure. His public life was unpredictable, so he wanted his private life to be orderly and as untouched as possible by outside factors. He entered the office, hooked the robe behind the door, and settled down to an hour's work to be followed by a brisk walk, breakfast, and a tedious day in the classroom.

oOo

Crisp fall air reddened Snape's thin cheeks as he skirted the Forbidden Forest, a gust of wind causing his robe to ripple behind him like a dark flag. The quizzes were finished, magically locked into his classroom desk. He'd always found that announcement of an unexpected test was a bit like using Veritaserum: the looks on students' faces were dead giveaways as to whether they'd been studying.

The oldest students, naturally, would do well; only the very best and most studious ever made it to that level in _his_ classes. N.E.W.T. Potions was like an oasis during the school week. Little went wrong, and then it was usually from authorized, supervised experimentation rather than the entirely preventable accidents that occurred in the First through Fourth Year courses. Most of those incidents were due to sloppy handling of ingredients, blithely ignoring instructions, simple-mindedness, or a combination. He shook his head. _That Longbottom will surely destroy the school one day,_ Snape thought, cheered only by the prospect of the gormless Gryffindor possibly first failing out of Hogwarts.

The Potions master glanced up at the Southeast Tower, where glimmers of light shone from two fifth-floor windows. _No such luck with Beasley-Beecham, _he considered irritably.

Invigorated if not heartened by the stroll, Snape entered a side door and made his way to the Great Hall a few minutes before the early-rising students would arrive. Nodding to Kettleburn, whose right cheek was plastered, he took his customary seat. He hesitated only briefly before ordering a cup of tea. The only thing he considered substandard from the Hogwarts kitchen was the coffee, which he considered bitter and weak.

He'd already finished two kippers and an egg by the time Beecham hurried in, neatly dressed but appearing tired. _Probably couldn't sleep from the excitement of witnessing so much magic—even poorly performed magic, _he thought.

Suddenly he found himself thinking of that very first night at Hogwarts. After he'd been sorted, he'd carefully positioned himself at the Slytherin table to watch Lily Evans gleefully take in the magic on display, her magnificent, kind green eyes sparkling. They'd exchanged several smiles, happy to be at the school at last, but disappointed to be separated by house archetypes that she'd soon learn were deeply entrenched.

Lockhart's loud laughter yanked Snape back to the present. Sporting a peacock blue cutaway, Lockhart was leaning between Sinistra and Beecham, attempting to dazzle them with charm and his abnormally white teeth. Both women nodded distractedly as the DADA professor chattered, Sinistra fingering a periodical's open pages and Beecham fumbling in her tote. Had he not known better, Snape might have thought she was quite understandably reaching for her wand to shut up the Gilded One.

A shriek of surprise from the Hufflepuff table, followed by shouts and laughter, drew everyone's attention. A Third-Year sat with oatmeal dripping down his face from an upturned bowl. Snape's black eyes darted to the Hall's far end, where the Weasley twins sat eating with an angelic demeanor, oblivious to the commotion. McGonagall, too, he noticed, was suspicious about the ginger pair, but without proof she wasn't about to reprimand them, let alone deduct points.

_Those two are becoming entirely too proficient with jinxes and hexes, _he thought. _They would have done well in Slytherin._

His next glance was to his right. Lockhart was standing back from the High Table, trying to look the authority figure as he fruitlessly searched students' faces for the culprits. Meanwhile, Beecham took advantage of the situation to grab a roll and her bag, and slipped out the side door without the blond fop noticing. Snape smirked with grudging admiration at her escape.

oOo

Nadia was swallowing the last bit of bread outside the Deputy Headmistress's office when McGonagall arrived.

"Good morning," the older woman said, nodding briskly as she aimed her wand at the door's lock. There was the sound of steel against steel, then a click as the mechanism unlocked and the door swung open. "Do come in."

"Good morning," Nadia responded. She wiped a crumb from her mouth while following the Scotswoman inside.

"Perhaps you ought to work in here today," Minerva said. "It's bound to get a mite messy with today's lesson."

The American felt both disappointment in not getting to view the Transfiguration lessons and relief that she wouldn't be in the line of stray magic. McGonagall was clearing her desk, leaving a neat pile of scrolls. A simple wand motion spread open a particularly thick batch, and the teacher motioned Nadia to join her on the chair side of the desk.

"The Ministry of Education owled this late yesterday," McGonagall sighed. "I've hardly had time to examine it, but it appears the Board of Governors is requiring Hogwarts to establish another filing system—in addition to the existing ones."

Nadia grinned ruefully. "Probably job security for someone in the government."

"Undoubtedly," Minerva snorted. Tapping the scrolls, she raised her eyebrows. "Would you please read these, and between classes this morning we can confer as to what would be the best approach. I'm afraid it contains much legalese."

"No problem," Nadia replied. "That's much of my work life."

"I shall be back in an hour," the witch said. Conjuring a cup of tea for Nadia, McGonagall left.

Other than the facts that the Ministry's missive was on parchment, written with a quill, and there were talon marks on one edge, the contents were as boring and regimented as any official paperwork Nadia had seen. She began reading the entire stack before returning to the first page and taking notes. To get to the crux, the trick was to ignore the extra wording, meant to impress the author's supervisors and demonstrate authority over the recipients. Nadia shared her initial impressions with McGonagall before the second Transfiguration class began, and finished a draft synopsis before the morning break.

In her normal life, she would have ploughed ahead, skipping a break. But there were only a few days to hobnob with witches and wizards, and she wasn't about to miss that chance.

"Ah, Minerva," Dumbledore said as the pair entered the staff room. He floated mugs of tea to them as he continued. "I'm afraid I was out last night when the Ministry owl arrived."

"A new set of busywork," Minerva said dryly, easily catching the mug that stopped in front of her. "I've set Miss Beecham to the task."

Nadia fumbled her catch, but Dumbledore absently cleaned up the spillage without comment. "Ah! Very good." He smiled appreciatively at the guest aide. "Pomona's forced some honking daffodils that are blooming. You might enjoy seeing them before supper."

Her brow furrowed. "Pardon? 'Honking' daffodils?"

Dumbledore laughed. "That is correct. Very similar to the ones you are familiar with, but with a delightful difference." He gestured behind Nadia, and she turned to see the frizzle-haired Pomona Sprout raise a hand, warmly twiddling her fingers in greeting.

"That sounds like fun," Nadia said enthusiastically. With a nod to Dumbledore, she hurried over to the Herbology teacher to begin chatting about the yet-to-be-seen greenhouses.

Snape observed the exchange from a corner, where he surreptitiously watched the entire room while standing with an open Potions reference and his own mug of tea. Lockhart, whom he thought of as "the DADA Idiot," had planted himself next to Sinistra, who spent the days before the initial evening Astronomy class working on charts and developing new tests for the academic year. Flitwick was conferring with Vector, presumably about a proposed combined project for their N.E.W.T. pupils. The part-time flying instructor, Hooch, had been listening to one of Kettleburn's jokes and now laughed raucously.

Before break time ended, he swept from the room, pointedly ignoring a curious look from the Muggle.

oOo

By lunch time, Nadia had prepared a system approach proposal for McGonagall, and was anxious to be back in a classroom to get a first-hand look at magic. While eating and asking Sinistra more about her summer sabbatical, she continued observing the apparent relationships between and within houses, the flirtatious glances, the challenging frowns. The younger years, especially the Firsts, were loud and happy, while the older students generally appeared more focused on quiet conversations and cramming for their next classes. She smirked when a little redheaded girl made moon eyes at an oblivious, round-spectacled boy, remembering her own schoolgirl crushes.

Finished with soup and a sandwich, she made her way into the dungeons and the Potions room, set her tote beside the side desk, and got out the quill and ink bottle, ready to work. The afternoon began with the same routine as the previous day: Students entered, Snape emerged behind them, magically slammed shut the door and revealed the quiz on the blackboard.

Once the children were at work, he led Nadia deeper into the room. A basket of brushes, and caked, dirty cauldrons and stirring rods rested next to the sink. "If you please," he murmured, turning smartly on his heel and left to watch his pupils think and scribble.

She stood several moments, fuming at his superior attitude, his condescension, his overall rudeness. It was clear that he demanded respect without modeling it, played favorites, and had no time for students who needed extra help. He didn't seem to think much of the adults with whom he worked, either.

There was no reasoning with such a person, she knew. The behavior would only escalate. She could approach the Headmaster or McGonagall, but being there for only a few more days, it wasn't worth bothering them and riling Snape. Instead, she bit her tongue, pulled on gloves and an apron hanging next to the sink, picked up a cauldron, and stuck it under the faucet. The only person to whom he seemed deferential was the Headmaster. Before she left Hogwarts, and her memory was cleaned, she would let Dumbledore know what a bully Severus Snape was.

She took out her frustrations on the Potions tools. As she scrubbed, her temper evened, and she thought more deeply about this mysterious Snape. Why would a man of his obvious intelligence and talents, and who seemed to dislike children, teach at a school rather than a university or run his own business? Why was he so mean? Who did he think he was?

_Pray for him._

The words came unbidden. Not knowing the man, she had no idea what to pray, so she mentally held the wizard up, asking for whatever Severus Snape might need. She, and even Snape himself, might not know, but God did.

When the afternoon classes were finished, he silently dismissed her and she left, calmer, lighter, and sympathetic. And she thought better of reporting him to the Headmaster. Surely he already knew.

oOo

By Dumbledore's arrangement, a Hufflepuff in the day's last Potions class escorted Nadia to Greenhouse Two. She opened the door and stepped inside, inhaling the deep, pungent scent of earth and vegetation. Sprout bustled about, humming happily as she watered plants. Strange squawks came from the glass structure's east side.

"Welcome!" the Herbology professor called, waving her forward. "The daffodils are over here."

Nadia joined her at a low table covered with bulb plants, most with unfurled buds. The larger, fuller plants strained forward as they emitted blasts in varying pitches, like young geese sounding for the first time.

"They're still young, so they've not yet found their voices. In another week, these early flowers will be honking properly, and the younger ones will be starting," Sprout said, proudly stroking one plant's light green stem.

Nadia stared in amazement, and Sprout chuckled. "The Headmaster said you've probably not seen these in America." She tilted her head meditatively. "Well, they wouldn't be in the wild, of course. Honking daffodils must be cultivated, and a bit of dried Mackled Malaclaw shell in the fertilizer does wonders."

Delighted in her visitor's astonishment, Sprout took the visitor through the rest of the greenhouse, showing off a collection of colorful Flutterby bushes and the potted leaping toadstools the Second-Years would work with soon. Nadia cautiously kept her distance, nervously enjoying the experience until it was time for both to leave for the evening meal.

oOo

A satisfying dinner of chicken, roasted vegetables, and squash soufflé was served at the High Table. Nadia found herself speaking exclusively with Vector, who moved over in Sinistra's absence. She was surprised to learn that she did not actually reside at Hogwarts, but commuted daily from Newcastle, where her husband's family ran a grocery catering to magical folk living in the region.

Afterward, she met with McGonagall to outline the filing plan she'd devised while scrubbing Potions equipment. She made no metion of Snape, nor did the witch ask about her afternoon work sessions.

With moving portraits distracting her, Nadia took a leisurely stroll back to her tower, stopping to view details in particularly fine and unusual paintings. She was fascinated with the details, the subjects' apparent awareness of the human world, and how characters disappeared from one frame to appear in another.

Reaching the end of the paintings line, she continued to the Southeast Tower's corridor and trudged upstairs, very much looking forward to a long bath and an interesting book.

oOo

A confident rap pulled Nadia's attention from the Muggle Studies text. Glancing at the clock, she wondered who might be calling at nearly nine o'clock on a Tuesday night. Carrying a candle, she walked to the door, slid aside the heavy iron lock, and pulled it open.

"Good evening!" Gilderoy Lockhart bowed deeply, sweeping his arm dramatically. "I thought I might see how our delightful assistant is doing this evening."

_Oh, brother._ Nadia pasted on a smile. "Just fine, thank you. This is a bit out of your way," she added, tilting her head toward the circular stairwell.

"Never too far to gaze upon a lovely lady." Lockhart's teeth reflected in the candlelight.

The two stared at one another several moments, Lockhart 's attentions oozing conceit, Nadia trying to convey graciousness but busyness through a polite smile and rigid posture.

"Might I come in?" he finally asked, his eyes scanning the empty room behind her.

"Um, I'm rather busy," she replied, not moving away from the door.

"Oh, yes? Doing what?" The blond man's quizzical expression implied, _What could possibly be more interesting than me?_

"Reading some of the textbooks used here," she explained.

"Being a Hogwarts graduate and, of course, an author, I'm quite familiar with the British magical education system's offerings," the blond man responded, eagerly leaning forward and pressing slightly against the door. "I'm sure I can offer you valuable insight."

To Nadia's dismay, he sidled through the stone-bordered doorway. Unable to quickly think of a way to ask him to leave without appearing rude, she turned and found him waiting to chivalrously close the door. Pulling a weak smile, she walked toward the chair containing the open book. A snick behind signaled the door's closure. She sighed softly.

Lockhart crossed the room quickly. "After you, please." He gestured to her chair. Pulling out the book, she took her seat, laying the tome on her lap as the DADA teacher took the chair opposite.

"Ah! The beginning Muggle Studies text!" Lockhart observed, crossing a leg clad in perfectly creased trousers over his other knee. "Such a fascinating subject, Muggles. Can you imagine, they truly don't believe in magic! Cannot even conceive of it being real, yet it's all around them!"

"On the other hand, one would think wizards would have invented the telescope, the light bulb, and spaceships rather than Muggles," she replied dryly.

Lockhart maintained his photo-perfect smile. "And who's to say those weren't invited by wizards? I believe Thomas Edison was known as the Wizard of Menlo Park."

_For crying out loud. _"He was a genius. There wasn't any magic involved," Nadia stated firmly.

"The Muggles do get lucky once in a while." Gilderoy waved a hand dismissively. He eyed her up and down, none too subtly. "Perhaps I could interest you in joining me for some delightful elf wine at The Three Broomsticks sometime?"

_Uh-uh._ Nadia smiled apologetically. "The Headmaster doesn't want me leaving the grounds. And I'm terribly busy—just as I am tonight." She looked pointedly at the mantel clock. "It _is_ getting rather late."

Even Lockhart couldn't fail to pick up on such a broad hint. "I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't mind you leaving with an accomplished escort. I'll speak with him." Rising, he smartly pulled down his heavily embroidered, velvet vest. "I bid you adieu for the night. Thank you for a delightful visit."

She walked him to the door, mostly to throw the bolt as soon as he was out. Before she could close the door, however, he turned and took her hand, which was not extended to him. Bending, he kissed it lightly, rubbing his thumb across her soft skin before releasing her. "Good night, Miss Beecham."

"Good night, professor." He turned to step onto the stairs, and she quickly closed the door before he could think of a further excuse to linger. Securing the bolt, she wearily leaned a moment against the door. _Many women probably do find him attractive, _she reflected._ But he seems so … fake._

oOo

Shortly after eight-thirty the next night, Lockhart turned up again, Levitating two small bowls of ice cream. Nadia politely invited him in and listened to his one-sided conversation (with heavy emphasis on his autobiographies) for nearly thirty minutes before pleading a heavy work load.

Late Thursday, the self-esteemed DADA instructor arrived, a tray of tea and biscuits floating beside him. After sipping half a cup and nibbling on a biscuit, she apologetically pointed out the pile of work on her desk to get rid of the pest.

Nadia was relieved when on Friday Minerva issued an invitation for a nightcap in her room. Lockhart apparently spent Saturday elsewhere, not darkening her door. But he was back again at seven Sunday night, presenting heart-shaped scones from Madam Puddifoot's on a doily-lined silver tray. She gave him fifteen minutes. Apologetically stifling a yawn, she explained how little she'd slept over the weekend and that she needed to go to bed early. Amazingly, Lockhart still didn't realize she was brushing him off, and before sweeping out the door he proudly assured that he'd be back later in the week.

Having finished reports for McGonagall to review Tuesday morning, she was cleaning some spilt ink on the desk blotter as the clock struck ten forty-five. Her mind ran through the next day's tasks for the Deputy Headmistress. She didn't want to think about the afternoon in the Potions room that, as in all previous days, involved tedious cleaning and cataloging rather disgusting items he deemed untaintable by her non-magical hands.

_Knock, knock, knock!_

Whirling, Nadia stared at the door from which the urgent raps came before hurrying to open it. Gilderoy Lockhart stood before her in all of his sartorial glory.

"I have an exciting proposition for you, Miss Beecham!" he said, his wand-wielding right hand crossed over his chest. "I would very much appreciate your accompanying me on my rounds tonight."

"Oh, I'm not qualified," she excused herself.

"Perhaps not," he agreed cordially, "but _I_ am highly qualified, and some company would be extremely helpful in keeping me awake. Please do come," he wheedled, tilting his head and applying a pleading expression.

_Well, it would be an interesting experience. _

"All right. Let me grab a sweater." While he stepped inside to wait, she quickly went to the bedroom armoire to extract a cardigan and footwear. Jamming her feet inside the leather walking shoes, she pulled on the sweater while returning to the sitting room.

"Do you have your wand?" Lockhart asked.

"Oh, um, here." She patted her left jumper sleeve, remembering that many students carried their wands thus in robes and casual clothes.

"Righto. Shall we?"

As they walked quietly through one hallway after another, Lockhart regaled her with tales about his Hogwarts schooldays and pointed out attractions, such as busts, tapestries, and rooms where notable events had taken place. Though tired earlier, Nadia was energized and alert, completely lost and dependent on Lockhart's ability to negotiate the dark Castle.

"Isn't this my floor?"

The cold voice stopped them both dead in their tracks. Startled, Lockhart smiled feebly at Nadia, then turned as she poked her head sideways to see past him.

Severus Snape stood in the middle of the hallway, now illuminated by his _Lumos_ spell. His head was bent forward slightly, hair swinging forward, and his blacks eyes seemed to crackle. In his wand's blue light, his sallow skin turned a sickly green.

"Oh, it's just you, Snape." Lockhart's voice was filled with relief.

Snape eyes flicked him a glare, then shifted to look intently beyond the dandy. "Well, well. What have we here?" He raised his wand, pointing the light over Lockhart's shoulder, and his until-then impassive expression turned dark. He moved sideways, cat-like, to Lockhart's side, sending Nadia scuttling backward in alarm. "And what are _you_ doing out in the corridors at this late hour, Miss Beecham?" he drawled dangerously.

"I invited her," Lockhart said.

"Whatever for?" Snape asked, never breaking eye contact with Nadia, who was feeling distinctly uneasy.

"I, er—" Lockhart began in a high pitch.

"Because he wanted to. And I thought it would be interesting," Nadia said defiantly. She forced herself to stand tall and stared back at Snape, forcing herself to keep eye contact.

The Potions master pursed his lips, somewhat amused at Beecham's unqualified bravado and Lockhart's apparent fear.

"The point of these rounds is not simply to catch straying students," Snape said, addressing Lockhart rather than the woman. "A known murderer is on the loose, and may well be trying to penetrate Hogwarts." He leaned toward her. "_You_ probably did not know that."

At that revelation, her eyes widened more, confirming his suspicion.

Lockhart cleared his throat. "She is perfectly safe with me." Lifting his chin for emphasis, he added proudly, "I do, after all, specialize in Defense."

"So well that you did not even detect me!" the black-robed wizard snapped. "Your chattering would warn off a wanted felon, like birds signaling approaching prey."

Lockhart threw out his chest indignantly. "Really! I must object! We were not—"

Jerking his lit wand to Lockhart's face, Snape cut him off, "We each have rounds to attend to, _properly_. _My_ rounds take me through your corridor," he said pointedly to Nadia. "You shall return with me. Now."

Biting her lower lip, Nadia silently complied without looking at Lockhart, following the billowing black robe all the way to the guest tower's entrance. He said nothing as his narrowed eyes watched her disappear up the lit staircase.

oOo

Snape did not speak to her, indeed made no eye contact, throughout the next day. After motioning her toward several crates of dusty phials and a pile of soft cleaning cloths, he spent the first class lecturing, followed by a tense, near-silent lab session the next period. When a phial she dropped shattered on the floor, the tinkling sounded throughout the room, he stopped in his prowling amongst the work tables but did not turn her way.

At three, Dumbledore silently entered and spoke with Snape quietly at the door. She glanced round and, seeing the old man motion to her, put down her work and joined them.

"It's a lovely day, perhaps the last fine day we'll have this fall, and I hoped you would join me for tea on the Astronomy Tower," the Headmaster said. Snape stood watching her, his hands tucked bat-like under his upper arms. "Professor Snape will have your things sent to your rooms."

The white-bearded man opened the door, and Nadia exited. He chatted amiably about the fine view from the Astronomy Tower, the first time he'd had tea on the ramparts, and his spotting a rare bird in a nearby tree. "Perhaps it will return this afternoon," he suggested.

Two folding chairs and a small round table, covered with white linen and tea things, awaited them. The sun reflecting off the stone walls provided a bright, warm reprieve from the dungeons. Somehow, the kitchen elves had obtained tasty, out-of-season strawberries to serve with gingerbread and whipped cream, which the two diners relished with refined restraint. Dumbledore pointed out key spots on the grounds, including the edge of Greenhouse Five from which Sprout was leading a group of dirtied Fifth-Years.

Dumbledore turned his blue eyes on Nadia, and his expression became compassionate. "There is some news," Dumbledore began slowly.

Nadia looked up, alarmed by his tone. _Has someone in the family died? _Her hand slipped from the tea cup's handle to lie tensely on the tablecloth.

"I'm afraid, my dear," he continued, placing a gnarled hand atop hers. "that you can't go home."

oOo

A/N: If you've made it this far, please review! It's nice to know you're there.

Hat's off to Noleme for quick and thoughtful betaing. You're a gem!

_English lessons:_ For non-native English readers, _sudsing_ is to lather, cover, or wash in soapy water or soap foam. It derives from _suds_, as in _soap suds_. * Despite what modern dictionaries say, Noleme and I agree that _simple-mindedness_ need a hyphen.


	12. Chapter 12

_Principles and Honor_

CHAPTER 12

_Can't go home?_ Stunned, Nadia felt her stomach clench in shock and dismay.

One hand resting comfortingly on hers, Dumbledore wandlessly directed the forgotten teacup to the stunned young woman, whose vision seemed to have blurred.

"Here, my dear," he said, offering the hot beverage. "Have a sip. You'll feel better."

She obeyed automatically. As the liquid filled her with warmth, she absently identified its fruity flavor as chamomile. It seemed a comforting gesture from the Headmaster, who watched her with concern.

"The office for which you work is merging with a larger firm 'across town,' as DeVawn reports," he explained gently. "Your position is, unfortunately, redundant."

Nadia looked up from the table top at which she had been staring. "‛Redundant'?"

"With office consolidation, your position will not be needed. I am sorry."

Clutching her forehead, she leaned forward, elbow on the crisp white linen. Her free hand's fingers suddenly loosened around the cup's handle.

"Miss Beecham, I assure you that your flat will remain protected, in your possession. You have no need to worry about your home."

Her shoulders sank as she sharply exhaled, and she slowly shook her head. "Not without rental payment," she replied ruefully.

"Please, my dear. Look up." As she did so, Dumbledore locked eyes. "DeVawn is gifted in both Potions and Charms. With my instruction, she will secure your flat so that it is protected and unnoticed until such time as you return." He waited for her to absorb that concept. "The charm will be keyed to you, so that it is lifted upon your return. As far as the owner and your neighbors are concerned, it will be as if there is no 'extra' flat in the building. Rent will not accumulate, nothing will be touched. Likewise, your bank accounts will be protected."

Her mind accepted Dumbledore's promise with relief . The many remarkable things she'd witnessed at Hogwarts made his wild proposition ridiculously plausible. Still, the job loss was worrisome, let alone the suspicion that had been growing for days that she might be trapped at Hogwarts.

As if reading her mind, Dumbledore added, "When you return—and one day, you will—the landlord and neighbors will take it all in stride, as if you'd always been there."

Her responding smile quickly faded. "I take it, then, that you haven't figured out a way for me to leave."

The white-haired man nodded and floated a plate of gingerbread toward her. Shadows were beginning to lengthen across the table and a breeze across the Astronomy Tower, prompting him to cast a Warming Charm over their seating area.

"No, not yet," he said apologetically. "I had hoped you are enjoying your stay and work here. Minerva is particularly impressed with the Ministry-related work you've been doing. It's been a great assistance."

Nadia felt an appreciative glow in her chest. "Thank you. It's been very interesting. And I must say the rooms and food have been wonderful."

"So may I toast to an agreement that you will continue to assist?" he asked teasingly, lifting his cup.

Again, her smile faded, and this time her nut-brown eyes watered. "You're taking care of my apartment. But what about everything else? My family? Friends? What am I going to do?"

Her lips trembled, and he again took one of her hands. "Your concerns are very understandable, and I've given this some thought," Dumbledore assured her. "DeVawn tells me that you are quite religious—retreats at convents, and you actually spoke with your priest about possibly becoming a nun?"

Her jaw dropped then shut, and she took a deep breath. "Yes …."

"Perhaps this is a good time to take the plunge—at least as far as everyone else is concerned," he said, peering over half-moon spectacles.

Her forehead furrowed. "I don't understand. You mean, DeVawn is going to a convent?"

To his credit, Dumbledore didn't laugh. "DeVawn will remain at your job another two weeks, until your office closes. I'm sure your family and friends will wonder what you plan to do."

"Ah." She leaned back in the slated-wood chair. "My friends know I've gone on retreats, and my priest knows, of course." She looked down at her hands, which were clasped in her lap. "It's not something my family would understand, but they'd probably be … relieved that I was being 'taken care of.'"

His bushy white eyebrows rose inquiringly. "Is it a story with which you would be comfortable? Or do you have another suggestion?"

Nadia shook her head. "I guess it makes sense. There's a contemplative order that seemed right. I've thought about it, but—." She looked up at him. "Yes."

Dumbledore nodded. "Arrangements will be made, your family and friends will be informed, and there will be no cause for worry—neither your family or friends or your behalf," he said firmly but kindly. "And I will ask DeVawn to send some of your things. Do you have any requests?"

Nadia embraced the opportunity. "Yes, please! I need more clothes, and some of my books—she'll recognize the most used ones."

"Your insights into our Muggle Studies program would be appreciated," Dumbledore said. "Do you have anything that would be helpful in such an endeavor?"

"History books and the laptop."

He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. "Lap top?"

"It's a portable computer. Uh, a machine that can be used for writing, computation, research. Mine has discs with an encyclopedia and other resources."

_Ah, one of those items Muggle children want to bring to Hogwarts. Rather like the transitoid radios students used to listen to Chubby Squares and the Elvis chap._ The oft-repeated statement that the school's intense magic interfered with electronics was a useful excuse for prohibiting Muggle electrical gadgetry. In fact, a highly skilled witch or wizard could fix that problem, of course, and could make nearly anything work without electricity.

"So long as it is not used in the presence of students," Dumbledore stated seriously.

"All right," she agreed. "Oh, and the coffee maker. I enjoy making my own in the morning."

He smiled. "Done. I will submit your 'order' to DeVawn tonight." Looking out onto the wind-swept lake, he set down his fork. "Hagrid expects a frost tonight. And I must attend to my office before dinner. Are you feeling better about your situation?" He pulled back her chair, allowing her to rise, so that he could escort her to the door.

"Yes, thank you," Nadia said graciously if shakily. "You're making an unusual situation, well, almost normal."

Dumbledore laughed. "That could be the very description of Hogwarts."

oOo

She didn't make it all the way to her room. Dumbledore walked Nadia to the staircase leading to the Entrance Hall. Feeling light-headed from his news, she instead backtracked to the armory where silvery figures gleamed from both torches and late afternoon light coming from clerestory windows. She sat on a knight's granite base and buried her face in her hands.

_Right, Nadia. It's_ _been fun being here, but it's not a game anymore. I'm _stuck _here. _She looked opposite to a figure wielding a mace in one hand, a reproduction wand in the other. The thought that she was the only normal, wandless human within miles sank her further into despair. _I've got to look after myself. _

Job security gone. No real home. Effectively lost to friends and family. Isolated amongst strange people and surrounded by magic and dangers she didn't comprehend. _Why is this happening?_

Then she had the crashing thought that it might not be accidental.

_Did someone bring me here, or send me here? Is this all an elaborate ruse so that I just "disappear" without explanation? _She shook her head._ I don't _think_ I know any witches or wizards outside of this place. Why would anyone want me to disappear? Isn't my presence here, in this Wizarding World, a bigger problem for Dumbledore than my absence from the real world? _A crooked smile formed._ "The real world." What's real? Perhaps Hogwarts exists in another dimension …. _

She'd just have to make the best of it. Until Dumbledore found a way to send her back—and surely he would—she would try to look at this as a unique growing experience.

_And what bitter irony that now that I have the opportunity to try the life of a religious, it's entirely fake! _

Guilt panged her. She could pray anywhere and, if anything, this was a reason to seek protection, consolation, and guidance. Prayer could only help, and it seemed that she would have a great deal of time for it.

Deep, slow breathing and the earlier cups of chamomile tea helped to calm her, but she still found it difficult to clear her mind. A mental image of Snape appeared, and she shivered. The man's appearance and demeanor would make anyone doubt their safety. Devawn had indicated that some wizarding folk are religious. Surely the caustic Potions master wasn't among them—unless he was a devil worshipper, Nadia thought.

_All shall be well._

The consoling phrase made famous in Julian of Norwich's visions* came internally, and swept away much of the fear she felt. She clung to the words, rocking slightly as she whispered them over and over, and concentrating on the love her faith brought her.

A throat cleared a few feet away, and she looked up. Filius Flitwick stood at nearly eye level, his face etched with concern. "Are you feeling unwell?"

Unable to find words, she smiled wanly.

"During our House Heads meeting this morning, Albus explained your situation," Flitwick said, chivalrously ignoring her startled jolt. "He wants all four of us to be prepared to help. He expected that you would be downcast at the news."

"Did he send you here, then?"

Filius chuckled. "I had no idea you were here. My classroom is down the hall, and I'm on the way to dinner. Would you like to join me? Septima usually sits next to me but announced at luncheon that she would be out this evening. I'd be delighted to converse with you."

"Thank you." Nadia rose, brushing dust from the back of her skirt, and began walking alongside him. For such a little man, he moved quickly and gracefully. They soon found themselves in a throng of Gryffindors, and on the ground floor entered a wider mix of students headed toward the Great Hall.

oOo

Snape ignored the pale woman taking the seat next to Flitwick. As far as he was concerned, Filius was welcome to take the Muggle under his wing. The head of Ravenclaw house was accustomed to Muggle-borns and, in Snape's opinion, coddled the homesick. _Perhaps he can snap her out of what undoubtedly will be a breakdown without someone's intervention._

He turned his attention to a more worthy matter, that of surreptitiously monitoring the house tables while eating his abstemious meal.

oOo

Filius introduced Nadia to Professor Kettleburn, who apologized for being in a hurry because he had "to tend to the Mackled Malaclaws." After the Magical Creatures instructor excused himself, Flitwick launched into a First-Year Charms overview with wit and verve. She was quickly drawn in, asking naïve questions that he treated with respect. Before she knew it, dinner was over and she had eaten well.

"Do you play chess?" Flitwick asked, as they both rose.

"It's been some years," she said.

The little wizard's eyes brightened. "Students interested in learning and playing gather in my classroom most Saturday mornings at ten. You're most welcome to join us."

Nadia smiled. "Why, thank you. I just may do that—but I may watch more than try my hand at first."

"Quite all right! That's the best way." Pursing his lips a moment, he added, "Oh, we play both wizard and Muggle chess. Something for everyone. You, there! Acherton!" Flitwick suddenly propelled forward, zeroing in on a stocky, dark-haired boy about to dash into the dungeons.

While Flitwick stopped to confer with the student, Nadia lingered in the Entrance Hall. Tonight she dreaded the hours before bed, and she considered whether to find some paperwork to distract herself. Two redheaded boys ran past, shaking her from her reverie, and she headed upstairs.

oOo

Minerva was preparing for a meeting, directing chairs into a semi-circle before her desk. The office was cheerfully, if loudly, decorated in tartan, pointing to its occupant's pride in her Scots heritage.

"Good evening, Nadia," the elder woman said, looking up from her wandwork. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"I thought I might get an early start on tomorrow's work." Nadia nodded toward the full box set apart for items tasked for her.

McGonagall's tight lips spread into a gentle, knowing smile. She picked up and handed over several bundled parchments. "Depending on how far you get with these, you may have time to observe Transfiguration classes tomorrow," she suggested.

"Oh, that would be nice. Good night," Nadia replied, and turned to leave.

"By the way," Minerva called, stopping Nadia at the door. "I've asked Severus to mix up a bit of that Migraine Potion for you. It's best to have it on hand."

Nadia blinked back tears triggered by her roiling emotions and Minerva's kindness. "T-Thank you," she stuttered. "I'm under a bit of strain."

The tall witch walked forward and laid a hand on the young woman's shoulder. "If you have any needs, don't be afraid to ask. And I often enjoy a wee visit and dram before heading to bed," she added with a crooked smile.

Nadia laughed at the unexpected admission. "I'll take you up on that, soon." Steps and voices neared the closed door. "I'd better get going."

"One minute." Minerva motioned for her to step aside. "You ought to meet the prefects."

She opened the door, and six upper-year students filed in, lining up in front of the chairs. Before taking her place behind the desk, McGonagall motioned for Nadia to step to the room's side, which the younger woman did, clutching parchments to her chest.

"Good evening," the teacher began.

"Good evening, Professor McGonagall," the group answered in unison.

"I'm sure you have all seen Miss Beecham in the school." McGonagall indicated Nadia with her left hand. "Before we begin, I'd like for her to have the opportunity to meet you."

As she named each student, Nadia walked along, greeting and shaking their hands. She was impressed with how bright-eyed and friendly the group was, with the possible exception of the lanky Sixth-Year boy. In her short time at Hogwarts, she had already heard much about the Weasley twins' antics, and this was their no-nonsense elder brother. At age 16, his handshake already was firm and corporate.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," Nadia said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I wish you a productive meeting."

As she pulled the door shut, she heard McGonagall invite them to sit, and the responding rustle of school robes and chair creaks.

oOo

Students on their way to and from the library passed her on the stairs and in the corridors, and she spotted several younger ones in an alcove, bent in a circle. She moved closer to see what they were doing.

About a dozen students, whose ties identified them as primarily from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, were gathered around two kneeling boys, who were playing marbles. Nadia smiled at the sight of children playing an ordinary game—until a horrible brown goo flew from one of the colored stones, splattering across one player's face. She grimaced as the children laughed, and the victim wiped the slime with his robe sleeve.

Turning away, Nadia headed for the first floor. Light from the high-flaming torches danced along the castle's stone walls, and caused the jewels in the house hourglasses below to sparkle prettily. While appreciating the prettily sparkling house hourglasses below, she nearly ran into a tall woman heading up the main stairway.

"Oh! I'm sorry," Nadia said, quickly moving aside.

The woman, whom she didn't recognize, drifted past without a word, leaving a freezing chill in her wake. Nadia's eyes widened and she spun around.

The monochromatic figure glided upward, without its feet ever touching the stair treads.

Nadia ran the rest of the way to the relative safety of her room, scattering on the first floor landing a group of girls giggling over a note one had received in History of Magic class.

oOo

Snape waited a decent interval after Dumbledore's exit before sweeping out of the Great Hall to follow him to the Headmaster's office.

The old man seemed to expect him. "Come in, Severus," he responded to Snape's sharp rap, and he was already pushing the bowl of lemon sherbets across the desk as the Potions master strode over the worn Persian rug that outlined the Headmaster's central work area.

Snape's lank black hair swung from side to side as he declined the offer of sweets. Plopping into the chair, he glared as Dumbledore popped a candy into his mouth.

"Are you going to put any magical restrictions on the woman?" the hawk-nosed younger man demanded.

Dumbledore cocked his head in puzzlement.

"Blast! You know what I'm talking about!" Snape spat. "The Muggle."

"Oh. Quite." Dumbledore sat back, his face softening. "Poor girl. She took the news rather well, I think. Then, again, she must be in shock. Minerva and Filius will keep an eye on her. How is the Migraine Potion coming?"

"The combination of keeping the Golden Trio under scrunity, cleaning up Lockhart's Defense messes, and the continued, unnecessary presence of an incompetent Muggle in my classroom is enough to give _me_ a migraine!" Pressing on the chair's arms, Snape thrust himself to his feet and began pacing. "She does not belong here! She is a danger to herself and others. Her presence will bring unwanted attention to the school." Turning on his heels, Snape's eyes narrowed at his employer. "I find it hard to believe there is no way to return the woman to her world."

"Yes, yes, Severus. I am well aware of your concerns," the Headmaster said evenly. Had he been Phineas Nigellus Black, he would toss Snape out on his ear for such a disrespectful display. Of course, Black would agree with Snape's sentiments, and would have had no qualms handing her over to Filch for confinement in one of the caretaker's specially outfitted dungeon rooms.

"I am confident that both Minerva and you will carry out my instructions to supervise, observe and, if necessary, protect Miss Beasley," Dumbledore stressed. "I will work to minimize her impact at Hogwarts and try to find a way to return her. But there are other matters that also require my attention, as I am sure you can understand. So we shall put this particular one to rest."

Snape's mouth twisted sourly. It was useless pressing the point. The Headmaster often trivialized Snape's legitimate concerns, the Marauders being an Exhibit Number One. He often wondered just what the old wizard would have done if Lily Potter or another "respected" student—anyone except Severus Snape or another Slytherin—had been the one to report James Potter's gang's arrogant, wand-happy ways.

"The potion will be ready by mid-morning," a very still Snape answered.

"Very good, Severus." Dumbledore picked up and extended the candy bowl. "Are you sure you won't take one?"

Snape sniffed, folding his arms. "I do not favor sweets." _As you know,_ he thought bitterly.

"Ah, Pomona informs me that the puffapods will be ready for harvest in the next few days," Dumbledore said brightly. "That should be just in time to prepare fresh antidote for the Swelling Solution lesson, yes?"

The younger man controlled his anger spectacularly. "Yes," he replied. "Just as we planned when developing last spring's planting schedule."

Dumbledore's noncommittal smile signaled an end to the interview. Snape stood and nodded stiffly. "Good night, Headmaster."

"And to you, Severus," the older man said kindly.

oOo

Nadia attempted to develop a routine to make her Hogwarts life as normal as possible. Each day opened with prayer and scripture reading, a sensible breakfast in the Great Hall, followed by work as assigned by McGonagall. She made a point of joining colleagues for the morning break in the staff room and attending lunch so that she was fortified for whatever (generally unpleasant) tasks Snape assigned. After dinner (to which she was sometimes late, thanks to Snape), she said the vesper prayers, then visited the library, played the lute, read, bathed and meditated.

Contemplative prayer was difficult. Just as it seemed she might achieve a state of inward vision, fear and uncertainty would well within her. She would mentally repeat, "Lord, help me, protect me," until the apprehension eased.

The only things she received in prayer that seemed sure were that all would be "well," which produced some calmness, and the confusing enjoinder to "help" the dark-eyed off-putting Potions man. She followed Snape's instructions as best she could, cleaning slime-grimed glassware, stocking shelves with new containers of grotesqueries, and endlessly scrubbing floors, tables, sinks and walls. Nadia did—at times reluctantly—pray for the man. "I don't know his needs, Lord, but you do. Please help him."

About ten days after her Astronomy Tower meeting with Dumbledore, Nadia returned to her rooms to discover that the sitting room's bookcases were fuller. DeVawn had made good on her promise, forwarding personal belongings to Dumbledore, who then had the house elf Liddy unpack them. Nadia ran her hands along several spines, happy to see familiar items.

In the bedroom, the wardrobe's doors had been left open, and Nadia rushed to see what much-needed clothing had been sent from her Portland apartment. Her face fell. Inside were old bridesmaid dresses in a rainbow of satins and laces, a floor-length black skirt and white blouse that had been a college choir uniform, a robe and gown, an out-of-style suit, a puffy winter jacket, and three pairs of shoes. Sweaters, underclothes, and other assorted belongings peeked from half-open drawers.

_Bridesmaid dresses!_ Nadia thought. _There are perfectly normal clothes DeVawn could have sent. What was she thinking?_

She turned dejectedly to the bed and sat, picking up two pieces of parchment. The smaller of the two read:

_The electric equipment will be delivered after Professor Flitwick charms them. Yours, Albus Dumbledore_

Next, she unfolded the fine, pale yellow stationery.

_Dear Nadia,_

_As Albus has explained, your flat and all possessions are magically secured, awaiting your safe return. Thank you for writing the letters to your family and friends; the correspondence has been sent, and you are now considered on your way to entering the cloistered St. Margaret's Monastery**. Your former employers wrote fine letters of recommendation, which I have stored in the desk with your professional and financial records. Please find enclosed several of your possessions, including some of your clearly cherished books. I hope they bring you both enjoyment and comfort. _

_I regret that I cannot present these items in person. My newest grandchild will arrive soon, and I have promised to help my daughter and son-in-law who have become frazzled by parenthood's looming reality. _

_I realize the clothing selections may seem strange. However, they fit in with the wizarding world, which in fashion is decades—if not centuries—behind the Muggles. (You may have noticed.) _

_It has been an honor to assist you. Be confident, and may you find Hogwarts' hospitality warm. _

_Affectionately,_

_DeVawn Chittleham_

Gingerly holding the delicate paper, Nadia reread DeVawn's missive. More than Dumbledore's Astronomy Tower conversation, it seemed to finalize her circumstances. This was to be home, for months, perhaps longer. _And,_ she thought grudgingly, _those yucky dresses _will_ fit in here. _

Nadia was sickened by the sudden realization that she hadn't specified the need for any medicines or personal care items. The supply she had was dwindling quickly, intended for a two-week vacation. She began to mentally berate herself for such forgetfulness, but something made her stop.

_Of course. Minerva said Professor Snape is making the Migraine Potion. And there is a hospital wing if medical care is needed. _The house-elf kept the bathroom supplied with basics, such as bath soap, shampoo and feminine napkins. _I'll be out of face lotion and makeup soon._ The idea of appearing in public without at least mascara and lipstick made her shudder.

Like Scarlet O'Hara, she decided to think about that another day.

oOo

A/N: Many thanks to my beta, Noleme, for wise and clarifying edits and suggestions contributing to this humble tale.

* Julian of Norwich was a medieval Christian and mystic who is known for her writings about the visions she experienced. The church where she was an anchoress still exists in Norfolk, England. Her Anglican feast day is May 8, and May 13 in the Roman Catholic Church. Learn more at .org/.

** Fictional place name.


	13. Chapter 13

Summary: An increasingly impatient Snape ushers the unplanned guest off Hogwarts' grounds. Overall story occurs from CoS to post-DH, disregarding the Epilogue.

Warnings: AU, EWE. Rating: T. Ingredients/treatments in this fiction story should not be used except in consultation with a qualified medical doctor.

Credits: Heartfelt thanks to the skilled Nólemë for betaing _P&H_. ~ References include The Harry Potter Lexicon and Potterwords for canon, and . for non-canon Latin.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to J. K. Rowling. No copyright infringements are intended, and no profit is made from this fanfic.

CHAPTER 13

As owls swooped through the Great Hall's windows to deposit the morning's mail and newspapers, a large, brown-streaked bird fluttered to a stop before Minerva McGonagall, who glanced at the package it clutched before untying the burden and offering it some crisp bacon. Satisfied with the treat, the owl lifted off, heading southwards once out the window.

When Nadia arrived in the Transfiguration office to begin the work day, McGonagall handed her the package. "For you," the witch said simply, returning to her desk.

_Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_, the return address said. Nadia ripped open the plain wrappings and pulled out a basic black robe in a mid-weight fabric and inexpensive, short boots.

"Since you are on staff, the Headmaster and I thought you should have these," the Deputy Headmistress said. "I understand that they aren't garments you're accustomed to wearing, but they would be most appropriate at school-day meals and formal occasions." She paused. "Also, whenever working with Severus. He is very traditional."

Minerva Transfigured a wall panel into a full-length mirror. "I can quickly fix anything that needs adjusting."

Thus prompted, Nadia hesitantly tried on the robe and boots. There was adequate room when she flexed her arms, shoulders and toes, and the light wool hung to mid-calf. Although the boots' soles were smooth, she noticed when stepping to the temporary mirror that they seemed to grip the smooth stone tiles.

Mixed feelings arose as Nadia examined the reflected image. It was strange seeing herself in such unaccustomed garb, yet the plain garment, devoid of any Hogwarts symbols, looked somewhat like a choir robe.

Witches' portrayals in story books and history sprung to her mind. Nadia was coming to realize that real wizard folk had the same basic concerns as non-magical people. But based on the wizarding history, she knew that this new world also was considerably more dangerous than hers. The Voldemort War had ended only 12 years earlier, and some supporters were still on the loose.

If this bit of clothing helped camouflage her, she would gladly wear it. Besides, it would help protect her other clothes—and there wasn't a pointy hat.

"Thank you, and to Professor Dumbledore," she said humbly.

Nodding, McGonagall returned the wall to its former state, and floated a pile of parchments and items toward her assistant. "More reports," she said, "As you have time, you might want to know more about day-to-day wizard life. I've collected these journal and magazine articles over the years to help Muggle-borns learn more, if they ask."

Nadia tilted her head. "If they ask? They probably wouldn't know what to ask."

Rising to head toward her classroom, Minerva looked at her thoughtfully. "I suppose not. But they are usually so busy with their school work that they think of little else. There are exceptions, of course."

"That Granger girl." Nadia had noticed that the young Gryffindor always had a huge pile of books around her in the library.

McGonagall smiled proudly. "Yes, Miss Granger wants to learn _everything_. She has a very bright future before her."

The school clock's loud _bong _alerted both that class time had arrived. McGonagall sailed through the door adjoining the classroom, and Nadia quietly followed, slipping to the back to work through the morning lessons.

oOo

Snape was very traditional, indeed. He'd lost the argument with Dumbledore and McGonagall –the school's senior Gryffindors—about allowing the Muggle to wear a robe. The fact that it was illegal for a Muggle to wear wizarding clothes fell on deaf ears, as did his perfect reasoning.

Of course, he kept to himself any positive points about the matter. Miss Beecham's shapely figure wasn't lost on the young Hogwarts men, and the robe would serve to cover her a bit.

Adolescent men and women in close proximity was a proven recipe for disaster, and there had been plenty of Potions accidents over the years because of too much attention to the opposite sex and too little to the work at hand. The American interloper's presence was one more distraction for the boys. However, Snape couldn't find enough fault to call her to task; she was always careful when bending and stretching that décolletage wasn't exposed, damn her. To broach that topic to the Headmaster would mean Snape dwelled on such things about colleagues—even pseudo-colleagues.

Instead, Snape kept a close eye on his pupils. A loud wand slap against the table was sufficient to snap them back to reality, and gave him some satisfaction.

oOo

For her part, Nadia found Severus Snape's lectures fascinating. The material was esoteric to her Muggle ears, and the Potions practicals were intriguing—steam and bubbles rising, flashes of light and changing colors, unusual scents, both compelling and repulsive, all resulting in rows of gleaming bottles lining the master's desk. Even the failures were rather spectacular, in her eyes, and she was always astonished at Snape's ability to effortlessly Vanish the worst mixes.

The single most engrossing aspect of class, however, was his voice. On the days Snape spent the majority of time lecturing, she found herself lured by the authoritative baritone that smoothly wove itself through her mind like a silken scarf. His command of language, clear articulation, expert modulation and projecting timbre were great pleasures.

But there was something more, an element that was hard to pinpoint. His voice was the embodied definition of bewitchment, and he spoke low, forcing students and colleagues alike to pay attention. If ever she doubted magic's overwhelming power, she need only recall the Potion master's alluring voice.

oOo

Minerva McGonagall was enjoying if not a return to youth, then at least some added vitality. Her assistant was proving herself a match to the Ministry of Magic's Education Department, dealing quickly and efficiently with dispatches, forms, narratives and new rules issued by the department's bureaucrats, some of whom the teacher recalled did quite poorly at HogwartsogwartsH. Jeremiah Birdstock, in particular, had written the most abysmal essays, so the Deputy Headmistress found it off-putting that he now demanded reports from his former instructors.

Minerva happily turned over many such duties, freeing herself to do more hands-on administration. She, of course, subjected Miss Beecham's work to the highest scrutiny, and had found that after a few initial misunderstandings, the girl was an intelligent, if entirely unexpected, addition to staff.

By the end of the first two weeks in McGonagall's classroom and office, Nadia had become more or less accustomed to hearing strange instructions, wand-waving, and interesting accidents of magic. With Minerva's permission, she made the already organized files and supplies in McGonagall's office easier to find and use. The fourth week she drew up charts showing all of the Deputy Headmistress' required work by category and due dates, and developed a calendar that allowed a more leisurely pace in tackling the work.

oOo

Snape, on the other hand, did not want interference in his world of potions-making instruction nor in any other area. Not only were the new First-Years a particularly unpromising batch of loathsome idiots and accident-prone imbeciles, but now he was playing babysitter to a Muggle just eager to get her fingers into everything and cause endless problems. No, he was not about to turn over even the most mundane paperwork to her; she could haul supplies, clean the glassware, line up bottles, and copy instructions by hand for distribution. Assuming he didn't have any students in detention, she could also clean cauldrons and floors, as needed. At least on her hands and knees she wouldn't be getting into his files, his ingredients, and his hair.

Snape dutifully kept a careful eye on the unwanted guest, but that didn't mean he had to accept her. In the staff room, he observed her giving background to the wide-eyed and delighted Muggle Studies teacher. Dumbledore allowed her to attend one of Sinistra's astronomy classes, loaned a Hogwarts house-elf to alter her old clothes, and granted her virtually free run of the library. Snape himself had asked Beecham about her activities amongst the books, assessing whether she'd set foot near the Restricted Section. He'd instructed Madame Pince to inform him if the woman dared to request access.

At night, a Head of House—Dumbledore preferred Snape or McGonagall—was to escort her to her tower. When she bridled at being treated as less than an adult, he caustically reminded her that only days earlier, she didn't believe in magic. "What more in the Wizarding world might there be," he asked, "that you had thought only fairy tales?" Since then, she cast nervous glances over her shoulder and quickened her steps. The thought of her having self-imposed nightmares warmed him.

In what little time he could spare, Snape occasionally tracked her comings and goings. He trailed her as she hiked around the lake and into the hills one weekend. Upon catching her "cutting corners slightly" to achieve her goal more quickly, he delivered a withering lecture about why she should avoid any foolhardy forays into the Forbidden Forest. Since then, she'd given the forest's edge wide berth. He was also well aware that she'd found an unused sixth-floor room where she practiced the lute; he stood outside listening while watching for (and occasionally catching) errant students who had no business on that floor. When he's reported her presence there, the Headmaster was unconcerned, observing, "I suppose a change of scenery would do anyone good."

His treatment of her was just tolerable, he knew. Dumbledore had instructed both him and McGonagall that they were to give her such work as they wished, so long as she was busy and they were aware of her activities. He'd authorize them to discipline her, if needed for her own good. During class, he only required her to stay out of the way, to be ever at the ready for errands he seldom gave, and to hold her tongue. He began requiring her to be present in his lab in the evenings, giving her menial, unpleasant chores.

It was just a matter of time, he knew, before Nadia Beecham made a stand. He knew she hadn't mentioned to Dumbledore or McGonagall her disappointment in his assignments, believing (and rightly so) that it would only make matters worse. So she'd been devising a plan to approach him. _Foolish woman. Why does she suppose I don't know what she's thinking? _

It amused him to know she was putting so much care and energy into her little scheme, all the while working like a house-elf in his lab while he experimented and committed Legilimency. She always tried to be friendly, greeting him upon coming and going each afternoon and evening, keeping her spirits up, doing her assigned work without complaint, sometimes asking questions about the day's classes or his latest projects. Once or twice, he actually answered her.

He knew she couldn't keep it up. She was just too nice, too efficient, too—well, damn it, available, as he'd caught some indiscrete Slytherins joking. (For their impudence—and for the carelessness of being overheard by anyone, especially their Head of House —he'd assigned them to write a research paper on an instructive topic: "How indiscretion has felled careers and lives.")

The last thing he needed was more people scrutinizing his life, and word spreading to parents and others. Watching out for The Boy Who Lived, who seemed determined to find trouble, was difficult enough.

And he didn't want a woman to _care_ about him. Especially a woman who'd silently take such abuse. He grinned nastily. _Meanwhile, I shall enjoy the sport._

oOo

Her plan was unveiled in mid-October, the day after a small delegation from the Ministry of Magic—including Lucius Malfoy—paid a visit to Albus Dumbledore, and the day of a cunning session-long pop quiz to which the Potions master subjected his afternoon Fourth-Years.

A couple of Ravenclaws who'd had the temerity to whisper during his Fifth-Year lecture were serving detention, so Nadia pulled her evening work duty afterward. The skirt she wore reached just below her knees but had originally been ankle-length, Snape knew, since he'd been asked to check the Chittleham shipment. She bent to pick up a box, and the dark fabric outlined her shapely bum. Snape averted his eyes, his teeth set on edge. _She does have certain … charms,_ he thought bitterly, _but she should use common sense in a school half-filled with teen-aged boys. _

Nadia finally finished the menial tasks at ten. Wiping the sweat from her brow and picking up the cardigan she'd removed, she approached Snape's office desk.

"May I have a moment, Professor?"

He looked up from marking tests without setting aside the quill.

"Sir, I very much understand that you like to get things done and you like them done well, because I'm the same. I'm a perfectionist about my work, and hate getting so-called assistance from someone who does it wrong because I wind up doing it all over.

"Even though many things here are strange to me, there are similarities in the work, and I've quickly caught on to the Ministry's reports and routine paperwork Professor McGonagall has assigned. Bureaucracy is the same everywhere. That kind of paperwork never goes away—it just changes, increases, or both.

"Admittedly, I never studied chemistry or physics. But I do have a good background in biology, I know a lot about plants, I've been reading one of the basic Potions reference books to learn about the ingredients and equipment that must be reported on and to help with the supplies closet, and I am a quick study.

"I could work on only the simple forms required of you, and would do everything always according to your instructions, and with your review and approval. Professor McGonagall's charmed a quill that writes in her hand. You could do the same. I would never presume to sign or initial anything for you, but you could additionally fix it to make that impossible. When I'm not using it for what you've assigned me, you could keep it locked up.

"Start me off with something, take a look at it. If you have any doubts, give me a task you've already done and then see how my work compares." She swallowed hard before continuing. "Sir, I understand that you have a great many responsibilities. I just want to help lighten your load. Often just removing a small part can help, and I'd be very honored to do that."

Snape had watched unblinkingly and sat silently for what seemed minutes. Finally, he returned to scoring tests. "You may go, Miss Beecham," he said, eyes fixed on the parchment.

It was as if he'd slapped her. After a stunned moment, she left.

Snape concentrated on scoring, but his irritation interfered. Despite the Headmaster's order, he was disinclined to escort her. _She's correct on two points: I have many responsibilities, and other people usually do it wrong. Her "help" would be just another mess I cannot pass off to some misbehaved student in detention._

He took satisfaction in being exacting on all the papers, even finding a loophole enabling him to mark Granger's down to "Acceptable." That would only spur the insufferable know-it-all into over-compensating in her studies, with the benefit of perhaps making her less available for Potter's and Weasley's plotting.

What he found most incensing about Beecham were her empathetic thoughts and emotions. _Interfering, insinuating wench! What can she possibly know?_

His habitual late-night rounds turned up one detention candidate on the grounds, granting him some satisfaction. Seeing a light in the staff room, he returned indoors to investigate. He quietly opened the door to find Beecham bent over her laptop, consulting a book and notes: _Muggle Studies._ After determining she was, indeed, fully concentrating on the Dumbledore-assigned project, he left as stealthily as he'd arrived.

oOo

Severus was finishing breakfast when Nadia arrived at the High Table. He waited until she'd just begun eating to push back his chair and stride across the platform, stopping directly behind her.

"Miss Beecham. A word," he said, bending closely. "Your services will not be needed during classes this afternoon. You shall meet with me in my office promptly at seven o'clock. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." She'd gone still, and her tone was hushed.

"Good." He left, his robe swishing, and with him went her appetite.

oOo

At the assigned time, Nadia was waiting at Snape's office door, and he silently allowed her inside, then walked the room's length to his desk, setting down papers before looking at her. It didn't take Legilimency for him to know she'd been worrying most of the day about this interview.

"So, Miss Beecham." Snape walked around his office work area and sat. "Apparently, you do not believe I am using you suitably."

"No, sir." Her mouth twisted as she immediately realized how he might take that. "I mean, it's your decision what tasks to assign me, professor."

"Indeed." She shifted uncomfortably, and he suppressed a sneer. _Still no brass! he thought._ "Which leaves the question as to why you saw it fit to lecture me last night."

She blanched and her eyes widened. "Professor, I wasn't lecturing. I really just want to help, sir."

"Scrubbing cauldrons and hauling rats' spleens is not using your … abilities?" he demanded disdainfully, his arms crossed. He could see that the insult beat her down; she was momentarily at a loss for words.

"Of course, sir, I'm quite capable of doing those things, if that's what you want." Her voice trailed. "But those aren't my _talents_."

Snape eyed her levelly. "Really. We shall see."

Opening a drawer, he pulled out a sheaf of papers. "These, Miss Beecham, are the papers that were necessary to file last year's annual Potions Grading and Achievements Report to the Ministry. Here is a blank form for you to try your hand. You may begin."

She took the papers, he checked his N.E. class' ongoing projects before returning to his latest experiment on a new use for Blast-Ended Skrewt nerve linings. Casting occasional glances her way, he saw she spent the first 15 minutes examining the form and the diverse information he'd provided, then set to work slowly. She worked industriously and did not consult him.

At half-past nine, she finished and nervously stood next to a lab table as Snape reviewed her work at his desk. He spent thirty minutes, carefully checking each page. It had taken her four times as long to replicate the report he'd turned in June 30. Considering how long it had taken him to do his very first, he allowed that her effort was … commendable. Since he'd joined Hogwarts' staff, the report's requirements had only become more complicated.

He motioned for her forward to stand before him, and he sat stony-faced.

"If I were to grade your results tonight, Miss Beecham, what would you expect?"

"I-I don't know, sir," she said, caught off guard. His demeanor made her question her work.

"Did you not suggest that you are perfectly capable of handling such assignments?" he pressed.

"Yes, sir. It seemed relatively routine. I believe it's correct."

Snape paused for effect, watching as Beecham's nerves got the better of her.

"If not for your handwriting, an E." His cold tone and manner expressed disparagement. "Therefore, a barely scraped Acceptable."

She grimaced at his damning praise. _It just irks him to give credit where it's due._

"It is, after all, an easy task," Snape said, deflating her of any feeling of accomplishment. Her eyes burned indignantly, and he was gratified with her show of anger. "Ah, Miss Beecham. Is not anger one of the Seven Deadly Sins? 'The meek shall inherit the earth.'"

The truth stung—particularly since he used her faith to castigate her. She lowered her eyes and breathed deeply, seeking to calm herself. She couldn't bring herself, however, to apologize. _He must owe apologies to everyone he knows!_

With a wave of his hand, a book floated from his desk to Nadia, and she snatched it in unwarranted fear that it would fall.

"I expect a high level of accomplishment in all tasks assigned to you, and that includes _legible_ handwriting." She opened her mouth to object, but snapped it closed at his harsh expression. "Muggle-borns often struggle with the quill. They also have no concept of wizard social behavior.

"Therefore, you will copy the entire contents of that book before you may undertake any paperwork on my behalf," he instructed. Folding his arms, he watched carefully as she schooled her features. "You will master the quill and learn something besides."

Unable to restrain her curiosity, Nadia looked down at the book's cover: _Mrs. Wigworthy's Book of Manners_. A steady heat flamed up her face. _How dare he, the condescending—!_ But showing any anger would simply play into his conniving hands, she realized. Biting the inside of her lip, Nadia raised her head, smiled tightly and nodded once.

"I'll give you through the weekend. You'll present your finished work for examination," he warned darkly.

"Of course, sir." She bit her tongue to keep from blurting out anything further—how intolerably he behaved toward her and his students, and that he could use a good dose of humility.

He nodded. Snape bent forward, and his eyes suddenly seemed blacker. "Why have you been returning to your room at midnight, Miss Beecham? It was my understanding that while you do not have an official curfew, you are expected to be in your quarters by ten."

Initially surprised, she sighed. "Professor Lockhart sometimes drops by my room, as if it's not out of the way. His mind doesn't seem to be on … professionalism. So I've taken to working and reading in the staff room."

"And you don't care for the company of the famous author and legendary ladies' man?" Severus said, openly sneering.

"Oh, please," she said, rolling her eyes. Her face suddenly brightening with a new thought. "I understand you're going to give a dueling exhibition with him? May I come? I'd just love to see him get his comeuppance."

"My, my, Miss Beecham. You seem fairly confident of the outcome, considering that he is a holder of the Order of Merlin Third Class."

Nadia folded her arms. "The first day I was here 'officially,' he presented me with his _Wanderings with Werewolves_ and _Magical Me_ books, so I read them. What a fraud!"

Snape's lips curled with disdainful satisfaction and surveyed her with what could almost be admiration. "Can't even fool a Muggle."

oOo

A pile of ink-stained, crumpled parchments overflowed the wood rubbish bin next to the secretary desk, where Nadia bent forward in concentration, clutching a goose quill. McGonagall might be kind enough to magically clean up her assistant's ink blots, but Nadia didn't dare ask Snape to follow suit. _Maybe the library has some quillmanship manuals. I'll ask Madame Pince tomorrow._She'd managed to reach page eight of the one hundred fifty-page wizarding etiquette book, but had gone through nearly two dozen pages of parchment in the hand-copying process. Both of her hands were stained with ink, and she'd smudged her nose from rubbing it in frustration.

Taking a drink of water—and blotching the goblet with ink—she focused on the next sentence.

_Do not carry your wand horizontally to the side. To do so is an affectation, and it is impolite as an unaware passerby could be poked._

Nadia snorted at the memory of Lockhart carrying his wand just so, as if prancing down a couture runway. Dutifully, she copied the words, at greater speed than she was able an hour earlier. She finished with an accidental flourish, and pulled back in surprise.

"Not bad," she said softly.

Stretching, she walked through the bedroom to prepare a long, hot bath to relax painfully tight muscles.

Settling in the water, she reflected on her meeting with Snape, the cause of her tension. The session had gone surprisingly well, considering the Head of Slytherin's imperiousness and expertise in provocation. She would have congratulated herself on a case well presented if his response wasn't obviously prepared. Once again, he'd made his self-superiority abundantly clear, but she'd at least achieved her goal: A chance to do real office work for him.

Drying and dressing for bed, Nadia went to the freestanding low bookcase now in her bedroom. Having found it in the castle's massive storage, she used it to create a prayer corner near one of the bedroom windows. Newly dusted and polished, the case held a few volumes of religious nature, some small icons, and a tiny censer and packet of incense cones. Affixed to the stone wall above was a Christus Rex, a cross depicting Christ as a triumphant king with outstretched arms.

Kneeling, she went through a routine of prayers, including for family and friends she wasn't sure when she would see again. She asked for courage, patience in dealing with Snape, and a true ability to help the man. And she offered thanks for the kindnesses offered by other staff, particularly Dumbledore, McGonagall and Flitwick.

oOo

An hour after curfew, Minerva and Severus were summoned to a meeting in the Headmaster's Office, where Dumbledore distributed glasses of Ogden's. The trio quietly enjoyed the end-of-day amber liquid while Fawkes preened in a corner. After several minutes, the old wizard pulled out a set of spelled notes.

"You'll remember that a friend took Miss Beecham's place with the use of Polyjuice," he said, and his guests nodded. "At my request, she has submitted a written report. What Miss Beecham has told us about her life have been substantiated to my satisfaction."

Minerva gazed at Albus with interest, while Snape's lips twisted dubiously. Dumbledore's eyes remained fixed on the pages he held.

"I also asked Mrs. Chittleham to research possible magical connections. She examined family correspondence, pictures, genealogical information, and sought other sources to help determine whether the girl is Muggle or witch. Family letters evidenced some women on her maternal side had the gift of seeing, although it is not referred to as such.

"Severus, you shared information that you gathered through Legilmency, and we have what she's told us outright." The Headmaster took a pleasing sip of Firewhisky and carefully set the crystal glass onto its coaster. "Some of the things you saw involve her family. Friends' inquiries and comments to my friend—as Miss Beasley—made it clear that the family has a distant relationship, and that Miss Beasley might have been depressed."

Minerva made sounds of concern. Her young colleague swirled his glass casually, candlelight refracting shards of light through the cut glass.

"I'd like for you to continue keeping a close eye on her. Her present circumstances could deepen a depression."

"Assuming she doesn't wish, nor has she planned, to be here," Snape interjected quietly but with an edge.

Dumbledore ignored the younger man's sharp attitude. "If you see signs of depression, please let me know. It should be addressed."

Minerva and Severus both acknowledged the order.

Just then, a strong gust of wind blew leaves against the windows.

"Ah, autumn is truly upon us!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "I suppose your Quidditch teams are hard at work."

"Of course, Headmaster. Slytherin intends to reclaim its title," Severus said evenly.

Minerva downed the last of her Firewhisky. "Don't count on it, laddie."

oOo


End file.
